


A Little Bit of History Repeating

by nomelon



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Cordelia, Angel was once a badass vampire, Angst and Humor, Angsty Schmoop, Companionable Snark, Cordelia rules the roost, Demons, Dorks in Love, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Heartache, Hurt Spike, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Season/Series 05, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Snark, Souled Spike, Spike was once a badass vampire, Threesome - F/M/M, Vampires, Young Cordelia, oh what feeling is this?, this took me yeeears to finish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 101,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia gets to stay with Angel, losing something of herself and gaining an extra vampire in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: This starts with that all important goodbye scene in "You're Welcome" in the last season of Angel where Cordelia departs for good, and weaves in and out of the following episodes until the end of the series and beyond. I know that real life constraints meant that Charisma Carpenter had to go bye bye, but it would have played out differently if the characters had had their own way. No way would they have let go so easily. 
> 
> More Author's Note: Yes, it took me nearly a decade to finish. I'M SORRY I'M CRAP.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from "You're Welcome".

Angel was used to heartache. Pain and suffering and never getting much in the way of peace was his status quo. After nearly a century of one misery after another, he'd been sucked into the promise of a better life in Sunnydale, but it hadn't taken very long for him to realise what a truly awful mistake that had been. In L.A. he at least had a few things going for him. He had a mission. He was well aware of the loophole in his curse and what would happen if he let himself get swept up in little things like love and happiness ever again. He had friends here. Doyle was still a painful memory, but he had Wesley, he had Gunn and Fred, he had Lorne, and he had Cordelia. 

Or he'd had Cordelia, almost, then lost her. Then lost her again. And again. The Greater Good kept on butting in, and so he and Cordelia never got their time together. Which, he knew deep down, was probably a good thing if his curse, mission and immortality were taken into consideration, but he was having a hard time finding the upside.

Then today, on a day like any other, she'd come back to him. They'd had one short day together with barely a moment to be alone, and now she was telling him she couldn't stay. 

It was going to shatter him to pieces.

"Oh, what the hell," she said. "One for the road?"

He'd missed kissing her. And he wasn't sure, but it was entirely possible that this was their first real kiss: just the two of them, no magical influence and nobody was possessed. Just a simple kiss, but from what she was saying, it was going to be their last. 

The shock of her vision hit him. He saw it all: the Circle of the Black Thorn, Cyvus Vail, the Fell Brethren, that cold bitch of a Senator, and Lindsey MacDonald. Goddamn Lindsey McDonald, handed his freedom on a silver platter on still he couldn't just _take_ it. Angel saw what they had in store for him and he knew what it was he had to do. It terrified him, the sheer scope of it, the audacity, but at the same time it filled him with the pure, clear light of hope. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to really _hope_ for the future.

The vision faded and it was just a kiss. A really, really good kiss. Or possibly the worst kiss ever because Cordy was leaving him again. He could try and find a way around it, fight for her or maybe just resort to begging, but the cold stone in the pit of his stomach was feeling a lot like dread because she'd said it would happen, and Cordelia was many things but she wasn't a liar, not about the big stuff.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. A dramatic exit maybe, a flash of pure white light as she ascended, an illusionist's puff of smoke masking her departure, at the very least a last lingering look as she walked out of his office and out of his life for the last time. But not this. Her eyes lost their focus and searched the middle ground between them, seeing something only she could perceive. 

"Cordy, what is it? What's happening? Tell me."

With effort she focused on his face. "Angel, I had to make a sacrifice. But this isn't what I was told would happen."

"A sacrifice? Cordelia, what have you done?"

"I've been watching you again."

"Watching?"

"Mostly when you were in the shower." He smiled, but it hurt. "Things weren't going too well, were they?"

"Understatement. But, Jesus, Cordelia, I would have coped. I always have before."

"Bullcrap. You were in big trouble, buster. In over your head and you couldn't even see it coming."

"Okay," he said softly. "You got me. Now tell me what you've done so I can help you."

"You can't help me this time."

"Don't say that."

"What will be will be. You know everything there is to know. Don't you?"

Angel darted his tongue over his lips and nodded. 

"Okay," Cordelia said, her relief obvious. "Okay. Good. But this, it's not... I made a deal. I asked for a day. That's all I get."

The unfairness of it choked him. "Why did you do that? I'm not worth it, Cordy. Not worth ten of you."

"Only ten?" Her sad smile faded as her eyes clouded over. "It's too late now, Angel. I've had my day, now I have to go. A deal's a deal. But this wasn't supposed to happen. I don't know what they're... It's like I'm cut off. I can't see."

Dismayed, Angel waved his fingers in front of her face.

"No, dummy." She captured his fingers and blinked her gaze back to his face. "I mean inside my head. I can't see the others anymore. The Higher Beings. They're all around, watching, but I can't see them anymore."

"What does that mean?"

"Damned if I know." She gave a tired little shrug. "Don't know what this is, but it still looks like an exit to me."

"Don't. Don't leave me again."

"Angel. I have to. No regrets."

"No regrets." He shook his head and swiped at the tears in his eyes. "I love you."

"My Angel." She smiled, and it broke his heart. "I love you too. I think I always have. Always. No matter what."

"No matter what," he whispered.

She went limp in his arms, like she was falling asleep. The room was claustrophobic -- too full, too empty -- and so quiet around him that it was shrill in his ears. He was alone, and nothing was right. He laid her on one of the couches and stayed beside her for a long time, watching her, holding her hand, smoothing her hair.

The phone rang, invasive and awful. It took three rings before he even realised what the sound was. He didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to leave her, but the noise was wrong and intrusive. When he picked up the receiver to make it stop, it was only habit that made him lift it to his ear. He answered the questions asked of him dully.

"Hello. Yes, I know. She's-- ... But that's impossible. ... No. No, she isn't. I'm telling you she's not. ... Look a body can't just disappear, and in any case we checked her out yesterday. ... Yes. ... Yes, we did. ... I don't care what your records show becau-- ... She can't be. ... She can't because she's right--"

He turned, his heart broken, another painful chapter closed, and steeled himself for the sight of his dead love.

Cordelia was sitting up on the sofa, staring at him with wide eyes, her heart beating like a drum.

Angel dropped the phone back into the cradle. 

"Woah," she said, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "I feel really funky. Did I faint or something? I knew I shouldn't have skipped breakfast again."

"Cordelia?" He edged around furniture, not taking his eyes off her in case she disappeared. "You're back? I mean you're not gone? Not dead? I mean... What is this?"

"Angel?" She blinked, like she was seeing him for the first time. "You tell me. What's going on? What is this place?" She tensed. "Hey, you still have your soul, right?"

"Yes, I still have my soul. I mean, it was a good kiss, but I'm hardly likely to have lost my soul over--"

"Kiss? What kiss?"

"Our-- Cordelia, what's wrong?"

"Wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong is I'm at work. I take a coffee break. I close my eyes for five minutes -- tops! -- and when I wake up, I'm here." She gestured around the office and seemed to really notice it for the first time. "Hey, where are we?"

"My office." 

"Your office. You have an office." She got up and went to the window. "Is this your _penthouse_ office?" Her eyes widened. "Your penthouse office in _L.A._?" She raised a hand and touched the glass. "Does Buffy know about this?"

"Buffy? What does she have to do with--" He stopped, took a breath and tried again. "Tell me what's going on here."

"Okay. I'll bite." She pushed away from the window and with one finger drew small circles in the air. "What is it? Demon of the week has sucked me into dreamland? Or how about another misfire spell of Willow's?" She snapped her fingers. "Ooh! Is Xander trying to win me back again? Because that's _so_ not going to happen. That bridge is _burned_."

"What? Why would...? What?"

"Maybe I'm just asleep." She pinched herself on the arm. "Pretty realistic dream." She glanced up at Angel and frowned. "Or not."

"This isn't a dream. Trust me on that." He took her elbow and guided her back to the couch. She eyed him with distrust but let herself be led. "Tell me what you remember."

"Duh! I just told you."

"That's all? Nothing else about L.A.?"

"Apart from the awesome shoe stores? Zilch."

"You said you were at work?"

"I did?" she said, looking oddly coy.

"Where were you working?"

"I really doubt that's relevant."

"It could be."

"Fine," she said, blowing out a stream of air. "Yeah, I was at work. Queen C has a job, hoo ha."

"Where?"

"April Fools on Richmond. You know it?" Angel searched his memory, but came up empty. "Yeah. Daddy's not so free and easy with the plastic these days, so I have to earn the money for my dress somehow."

"Your dress?"

"For prom? It's only the most important social event of the year. God." She shook her head sadly. "You old vamps are so out of touch."

"Prom? Senior prom?" Angel shifted in his seat, not wanting to ask, but knowing he had to. "Cordelia... how old are you?"

Her suspicion kicked up a few notches and she slid a little further away from him. "Why am I thinking that's not a good question? You gonna ask me who the president is? The year?"

"Might not be such a bad place to start."

"Oh god." She swallowed heavily. "Oh god, please tell me this isn't happening. What year _is_ it?"

"Two thousand--" Cordelia gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Angel grimaced, but soldiered on. "-- and four."

"No. No!" She squeezed her eyes shut and took a couple of deep breaths. "In with good, out with bad. Okay. Okay." She opened her eyes and shook her hands out. "Okay. So I've been Marty McFlyed. I should be used to this stupid Slayerette deal by now. You think you're out and they just keep pulling you back in. So what do we do to fix this? How do I get home?"

"Home? I..." Angel faltered. "I have no idea."

"What do you mean 'no idea'? There's always a pointer, right? Some magic, an ooga-booga symbol, or a demon maybe. _Something_."

"Hey, this just happened. I don't know why. It's not like you just appeared out of thin air. This is--"

"Your speciality. Not mine. Fix it."

"But I--"

"Where's Giles? He always knows what to do."

"Giles is... England. He went back to England."

"Giles left Sunnydale! What? How could even he do that?"

Angel put on the brakes. "Cordelia," he said, taking her hands in his. "Listen to me carefully. I'm not sure what this is, but what you remember is all... It seems like a lifetime ago to tell you the truth. And my lifetime... well, it's longer than most. You've been living in L.A. for the past few years. A lot -- a _lot_ \-- has happened in that time. To you. To me. To everyone."

"Like what?" she asked, eyeing his hold on her hands with alarm.

"Like a lot. I'd rather focus on why you can't remember those years."

"Suits me. The sooner you figure it out, the sooner I can go home." She pulled her hands free.

Angel glanced down at his empty hands. "Why don't we start with the last thing you remember before you woke up here?" 

It was then that Angel knew that the world, as ever, was determined to make his life just that little bit more difficult as Spike burst in through the door, chin up, coattails a-flapping. 

"Angel. I need a car."

Alarm lifted Cordelia to her feet. "I should have known. This isn't the future; this is some weird evil ploy." She pointed a finger at Angel. "You've lost your soul again and this is all just... going to end badly."

"Why does nobody ever have even the least bit of faith in me? For the last time, I _haven't_ lost my soul."

"And yet Spike is here. Tell me what's wrong with this picture."

"Yes, Angel," Spike said, looking back and forth between them. "What's wrong with this picture?"

"Cordelia's... She may have lost her memory. Or something."

"Oh," Spike said, watching with interest as Cordelia backed away, trying to put a little space between her and the two vampires in the room, wringing her hands and darting glances at the door. "Hit her over the head with your caveman club, did you? That's nice. Good luck with dragging her back to your cave. Now, I need a car and the valet boys seem to think that someone gave explicit instructions that I wasn't to be given one. Sort it out for me, there's a love."

"Kind of got bigger fish to fry," Angel said without even looking at him, and went to Cordelia, wanting to calm her but only succeeding in making things worse by looming into her personal space.

"Yeah, I can see you have your hands full here. So if you just give me your keys I can get out of your gravity-defying hair and let you get on with it."

Cordelia shrieked as Spike approached and jumped back, holding up her two index fingers in the sign of the cross. "Get back! I don't know what the game is here, but I'm sure that if you're holding me hostage Buffy will be along any time now to break me out and you guys can deal with her. So just back off."

Spike eyeballed her. Cordelia noticed Spike eyeballing her and eyeballed him right back. 

"Cordelia, pet. I thought we'd been through this. I'm on-board with the good guys now. All souled up, just like His Royal Broodiness here. Although if I don't get a car very soon, I might just rethink the on-board part and jump ship."

"You have a soul?" Cordelia backed off another few steps, only to trip over a stray cushion. She stumbled, but kept her footing. "Don't make me laugh."

Spike didn't look impressed. "I should get some flyers printed up. Maybe take out an ad or something. Look. Cordelia. If this is about me trying to bite you, I'm sorry. I told you, it was just a case of mistaken identity. I'm a good guy now, okay? Got me a soul, just like Angel." He held up three fingers. "Scouts' honour."

"You have a soul," she repeated slowly. "Come on."

Spike levelled a look at her. "Dib, dib, dib."

"What, do they give them away in breakfast cereal in the future?" She looked to Angel for confirmation, who could only shrug. "Jeez," she said to Spike. "Copycat much? So what's your story? Did you get cursed too?"

She looked surprised when Spike went quiet and glanced quickly at Angel. "No," he said, low and serious. "Fought for it. Won it. Fair and square."

Cordelia put her hand on her hip. Spike waited her out. "You really expect me to buy that?" she asked.

"Believe what you want," he said. "I'm sure you'll get your memory back soon enough and we can all have a jolly old laugh about it. In the meantime... Keys, Angel, there's a good chap."

"But why would you fight to get a soul?" Cordelia asked. "No vampire would ever... That doesn't even begin to make sense."

"Buffy," Spike said, distracted as he began rifling through the drawers in Angel's desk. "For my sins. Everyone knows that."

Her gaze flitted to Angel and back again. "Oh, come now _on_. That's just..." She trailed off. "Ridiculous?"

"That's as may be," Spike said, dodging out of the way as Angel reclaimed his desk. "But it's the truth." For the first time he seemed to take an interest in what was happening to Cordelia. "You know you look different."

Cordelia's hands immediately flew to her hair then smoothed over her clothes. "Different?" She looked down at herself. "Wait, what the hell am I wearing?"

"Yeah." Spike crossed the room to get a better look. He didn't seem to notice or care when Cordelia flinched and her heart skipped a beat. He squinted, ducked his head and looked close, inhaled a few times, then nodded, his decision made. "You're younger." He grinned. "In fact, you look smashing, luv."

"Younger? That's impossible." Angel thought he'd been left out of the proceedings for entirely long enough. He elbowed Spike out of the way, but on closer examination, it appeared to be the truth. Cordelia looked a little sleeker. The faint lines she'd developed around her eyes and the corners of her mouth -- especially during the bad period when the visions had been at their worst -- had gone. Her hair was longer; her scent subtly altered. She looked just like she had when they'd first met up in L.A. 

As much as Angel hated to admit it, it looked like Spike was right.

"Spike, ask Harmony to call Lorne for me," he said without moving from his rapt examination of Cordelia.

Spike waved his hand. "Pfft, ask her yourself."

"Spike, please," Angel ground out from between gritted teeth.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fine." At the top of his lungs, he bawled, "Harmony!"

"Harmony?" asked Cordelia. "You can't mean--"

"You called, Blondie Bear?" Harmony appeared in the doorway, notepad in her hand and a bright smile on her face.

"Angel wants you," Spike said without looking at her.

"Bossie?"

Angel sighed, a long and weary sigh of a man who only wanted the simple things in life, but who rarely seemed to get them. "Harmony, can you call Lorne for me? Tell him to get back up here on the double."

"Sure thing, Bossie."

"And Harmony?"

"Don't call you Bossie. I know... Boss."

"Thank you," Angel said, anything but sincere.

"Sure thing," she called cheerfully, already heading back to her desk.

Cordelia looked like she was trying not to have palpitations. "Harmony's... She's your _secretary_?"

"She kind of... came with the building," Angel admitted.

"Yeah, but she's your _secretary_?"

"Sure. Great typing. Incredibly sycophantic." He trailed off because, really, what was the point in trying to justify it? "I'm not really sure how it happened. Last week, she brought me a camel."

"A camel."

"It was in the lobby."

"You know what you need to do?"

"What?"

"Fire your human resources guy."

"Don't think I haven't thought about it. Listen, Cordelia, about Harmony."

"There's more? How can there possibly be more?"

Angel gave her a weak smile. "She's under strict contract, so you'll be completely fine, but I think you should know..."

"What?"

"Harmony's a vampire."

"But yesterday we were just..." Cordelia sat down with a bump. "Harmony's a vampire in the future. Sure. Why not?"

"But, hey, if it's any consolation, she originally came to L.A. looking for you."

Cordelia looked up, horror-struck.

"No, I mean, she was looking for you because you were her friend. And she was lonely. Not because she wanted to eat you. It was... very annoying, but really quite an impressive display of willpower for a newly turned vampire if you think about it."

The intercom sounded. "Angel, Lorne's on his way."

Angel hit the answer button. "Thank you, Harmony."

"And Bossie?"

"Yes?"

"I heard everything that you just said. Most of it was very complimentary."

Angel closed his eyes. "Thank you, Harmony."

"No problem whatsoever," she said brightly, and the intercom went dead.

"I'm scared to ask, but who's Lorne?" Cordelia asked.

"He's, ah... Funny thing, actually, he's a demon. But a good one," Angel added quickly. "He's a good friend of yours."

"I'm friends with a demon," she said, like she was trying it out for size.

Angel watched her sadly, remembering Cordelia's old animosity toward anyone and anything not one hundred percent human. He recalled Doyle's constant fear of discovery. He remembered how far Cordelia had come since then, and realised that all her self-discovery, everything she'd learned, so much of the person she'd become, all of it -- it was all gone now.

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it," Spike said.

"I tend to remember friends," Cordelia said.

"Don't worry," Angel said. "Once you meet Lorne, you're bound to remember him. He's pretty unforgettable."

"It's not easy being green," muttered Spike.

"So how do I know him?" Cordelia asked.

"He, ah... heh." Angel was afraid to go on. How this must all seem to her he could only imagine, and really, all this was only the tip of the Angel Investigations iceberg. Then again, he supposed, if someone had told him all that was to happen to him in the years since he'd moved to L.A., he wouldn't have believed them in a million years either. "We met him in Caritas."

"Caritas?"

"It's a demon karaoke bar that he used to run." Angel quickly forged ahead, like the faster he said the words the easier it would be to get them out. "When you sing, you bare your soul and then he can read you. He's empathic. We destroyed his bar a couple of times. We also travelled through a porthole to his dimension, Pylea, where I became pure demon for a while and they made you a princess. It was... quite a trip."

"You can't tell her all that!" Spike exclaimed, mindless of Cordelia's elevated panic levels. "What if we have to send her back home or something? You'll be messing with the space-time continuum." He shifted his shoulders as he noticed that the others were looking at him strangely. "Look, _Star Trek_ , okay? The Prime Directive or self-fulfilling prophecies or paradoxes or what have you. Xander had a shitty film collection and I had to spend far too much bloody time cooped up at his place. But I raise a valid point. What if our Cordelia and this Cordelia have switched places, huh? What then? You just don't know."

Angel and Cordelia shared a look that said they maybe had to allow for at least the possibility of Spike's argument.

"And, hey, look at it this way," Spike continued. "At least she knows about vampires and demons and the like. She knows who we are. And at least she remembers everything up to a point. Things could be worse."

Angel thought this over. Cordelia knew who he was. She'd soon realise that he definitely still had his soul, that what he was telling her was the truth and, more importantly, that he was her friend, although he might leave the madly in love with her part out until she'd found her feet. She was only supposed to have had a day with him, but she was still there. Scared, pissy, and couple of years younger for some reason, but still there. Yes, he decided, hope rising like a balloon in his chest, things could definitely be worse.

"Wait just a minute." Cordelia held up one finger and pointed it at Spike. "You're trying to tell me you spent time hanging out at Xander's house? Now I _know_ this is all just some freaky dream."

 

\---

 

Lorne arrived back a little while later and, as always, commanded the room. Taking quick stock of the proceedings, he went straight to Cordelia. Stunned at his appearance, she couldn't do much more than sit there when Lorne took her hands and told her to sing. She looked nervously at Spike and Angel, who both gave upbeat nods of encouragement.

"I've figured it out," she said. "I've obviously been wrongly committed to a mental home and whatever drugs they've got me on, the dose is way too high."

"Just sing for the man," Angel said.

Cordelia found that she actually drew comfort from the soft hands of the strange green demon sitting beside her. For a creature with horns from another dimension, he gave out great vibes. What the hell, she figured. It wasn't as if things could get any stranger. Clearing her throat, she sang a quick off-key rendition of a few lines of Whitney Houston. She got as far as " _More than I thought I could be..._ " before she trailed off, too unsettled by Lorne's reaction to continue.

He stared at her sadly. "Oh, Cordelia. Where did you go?"

"Nowhere," she said, fidgeting under his scrutiny. "Right here, see?"

"Well?" Spike asked, his impatience getting the better of him. "Spit it out."

"She's gone," Lorne said. "Everything in the last few years is gone. The last thing she remembers is some hot young thing buying her a dress -- gorgeous, by the way -- and then she wakes up here. It's like everything since then has been surgically removed."

"How can you just remove a couple of years from someone's life?" Angel asked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I don't know," Lorne said, too busy watching Cordelia to notice, or care, that Angel was snapping at him. "I'm just telling you what I saw. If Cordelia was with the Higher Powers and now she's back to stay, it's possible they did this. Maybe she knew too much. Maybe she sacrificed it willingly. Who's to say?"

"I didn't sacrifice anything," Cordelia said. "And to tell you the truth, I'm getting a gigantoid headache trying to keep up with all this. How about you get with the magic-making and undo it." She looked around expectantly. "What? No takers? Fine. Super. So just track down my parents for me and I can just go home, huh?"

Angel said, hesitant, "I don't know if that would be such a good idea. You haven't seen them in a while. And I know that you weren't on the best of terms with them before that."

"What, so you're saying I was in L.A. by myself? With no money, no friends, and I ended up with you guys?"

"Me and Doy--" Angel shoulders slumped. "Yes, that's pretty much what I'm saying."

"Whoopee for me. So how did I end up going from unemployed actress to vampire sidekick?"

"We bumped into each other at a party. I saved you from a vampire and you needed a job. The rest is history."

"Not for me. I can't process this. It's all just too much."

"So just get Wesley to check her out," Spike suggested.

Cordelia immediately brightened. "Wesley? Wesley's here? Get out! Why didn't you say so sooner? He'll get to the bottom of this." She looked around hopefully. "So where is he?"


	2. Chapter 2

Wesley had returned with Lorne when they got the news, and had been loitering outside Angel's office, waiting to see if Lorne could resolve anything before presenting Cordelia with yet another face from her unknown future. As it turned out, he shouldn't have worried. Her joy at seeing him was almost enough to knock him off his feet, quite literally in fact, when she flew across the room to him and used him as a barrier between herself and the assorted demons in the room.

"Go on, Wesley," she hissed in his ear. "Now's your chance."

"Excuse me?"

"You said you'd dusted two vampires."

"I did?"

"Yes! Absolutely. So go on. Have at them!"

"Yes, actually, Cordelia..." He turned and took her gently by the shoulders. "I'm not quite sure what they've told you, but rest assured it's the truth."

Crestfallen, she pleaded with him to help her. So Wesley did what he did best. He researched. Unfortunately, his investigations only showed that there was no magic known to the extensive Wolfram & Hart archives that could conceivably have resulted in Cordelia's peculiar condition, particularly considering the safety and strength inherent with her connection to the Higher Powers. There was no prophecy listed that mentioned anything even approximating this turn of events, and she came up clean when he checked her over for spells, curses, hexes, demonic transmogrification, cellular devolution, temporal anomalies or trans-dimensional shifts. 

In short, he was stumped. So much for working the best mojo in town.

He was also, truth be told, rather uncomfortable with the way this new-old version of Cordelia acted around him. It was just like she'd behaved when they'd first met, all those years ago, when they'd had their brief crush on one another, right up until they'd shared that fateful kiss that had led them... absolutely nowhere. To think of it now with this youthful version of Cordelia in his presence actually made Wesley feel like a bit of a dirty old man. He loved Cordelia dearly: she was one of his closest friends and very much like a sister to him. But flirting? That was all very much in the past.

"So that's it?" Cordelia asked. "You can't help me either?"

Wesley went to her, his automatic reflex to comfort her. He was a little taken aback when Cordelia turned into the embrace, wrapped her arms around him tightly and tucked her head under his chin. Glancing at Angel and not liking the ominous black look the vampire was sending his way, Wesley awkwardly patted Cordelia's back and made the appropriate "there, there" noises. Over her head Wesley pulled a face at Angel, and was relieved when Angel looked a little chastised and lowered his hackles.

"So what now?" Spike asked, when it became apparent that Cordelia wasn't going to let go of Wesley any time soon.

"Now we..." Wesley trailed off. "Why are you here again? Weren't you making noises about going to see some band or other?"

"It was a metal gig in a warehouse across town. I couldn't get a car." He glared daggers at Angel. "So I find myself at a loose end and this is better than nothing."

"Oh," said Wesley. "In that case..." He gave his full attention to Angel. "I suggest that we treat it as amnesia."

"That's all you've got?" Angel narrowed his eyes at the way Cordelia seemed perfectly at home with her head on Wesley's chest.

"I'm afraid so. Although, I'm wondering if--" He disentangled himself from Cordelia. "Cordelia, would you give me a minute to talk to Angel? Perhaps if you'd like a drink? Or something to eat? Spike could show you the staff kitchen. I believe it's fully stocked."

She tensed. "You want me to go with Spike?"

"Yes. It's perfectly safe, I assure you."

"Oi! 'It' has a name, y'know."

"Not actually what I was referring to, but thank you for the reminder, Spike," Wesley said with a sigh.

"I guess I _could_ use a latte," Cordelia said. She followed a disinclined Spike out the door, keeping a safe distance between them.

"Well?" Angel asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I just wanted to raise a point."

"Raise away."

"You probably won't like it."

"Try me."

"It's just that maybe this isn't such a bad thing."

"Not such a bad thing," Angel repeated slowly.

"I told you you wouldn't like it."

"How can it not be a bad thing, Wesley? She doesn't remember anything about us. And not just 'me and her' us, I mean any of us. You, Doyle, Lorne, Con-- Wolfram & Hart. Everything that's happened in L.A. God, she hasn't even met Fred and Gunn yet. And it's not just amnesia. She's lost years. Physically lost years. How can that even happen?" He threw himself into a chair. "I just don't know how to deal with this."

"You don't have to," Wesley said softly. "She does. And what I meant was all the hurt and suffering that we've gone through in the last couple of years, that's all gone."

Angel went very still. "What are you talking about?"

"The pain of losing Doyle. The agony of her visions. The, ah, trouble we had when Darla was here. Demonic pregnancy, for the love of god! All of it. Cordelia's been freed from it. She's regained a couple of years of her life. It could have been given to her for a reason. Whatever deal she might have made with the Higher Powers, maybe this is it and she just doesn't remember."

"Oh. That."

"Yes. I wonder if I don't envy her a little for it." Wesley caught Angel's expression and eyed him strangely. "Why? Was there something else?"

"No," Angel said quickly. "Nothing. Wes, I see what you're saying, but I was there when it happened. She didn't know what was happening to her."

"Was she scared?"

Angel hesitated. "No," he admitted. "She was confused. She said it wasn't what she'd asked for, but she was... fine. Stubborn as a mule to the end, but she was smiling when she said goodbye. Then she woke up again like this."

Wesley crossed the room and sat opposite him. "I can't help but think perhaps this won't be so bad. We've dealt with so much worse. Perhaps her memory will return with time, but in the meantime..." He sat forward in his chair. "Angel, in the meantime, we have Cordelia back with us. She's healthy, mostly happy, and she's _back_ with us. The person we knew, the person she became, it's still her."

Angel glanced up at him, looking very young for once, as though he was trying his best not to get washed away in the sudden tidal wave of hope. "You really think it'll be that simple?"

Wesley snorted. "In our lives? Hardly. And she is Cordelia, after all. If I remember correctly, and I believe I do, Cordelia was nothing if not a selfish and contrary madam in most respects. But she's here. That in itself is certainly cause for celebration."

"And that... _hugging_ thing you two were doing?"

Wesley reddened. "Ah, yes, a throwback, I'm sure. I'm sure you know that when we first met we had a bit of a flirtation; barely more than ships passing, really. It burned brightly, but was quickly extinguished." Flustered, he got up, finding some papers that needed shuffling on his desk. "Probably just have to kiss her again," he muttered. "Put her right off."

Angel scowled.

 

\---

 

A few offices away, in the nearest kitchen, Spike looked on as Cordelia made coffee. She could feel it like a tickle between her shoulders, niggling at her. 

The kitchen was well stocked, as promised, and the equipment was state of the art. It took Cordelia several minutes of fiddling with the buttons and knobs before she figured out how to get the coffee machine to produce any actual coffee. 

"You want one?" she offered over her shoulder, trying to sound casual but getting stuck somewhere around jittery.

"Sure. Cream. Three sugars. Make it strong."

"Yay for the vampire metabolism," she said, and handed over a steaming mug.

Spike took a sip and immediately spat it back into the mug. He saw her looking and managed an awkward smile. "Thanks," he said. "Just a little... hot. Think I'll leave it for a bit to cool." He retreated to the corner of the room, where he leaned against a table and lit a cigarette.

"Do you mind?" she asked pointedly.

"Not at all," he said, and blew a cloud of smoke her way.

"I know you have the whole immortality package, but some of us lesser mortals actually care about passive smoking. You know it's illegal, right? Not to mention gross and stinky. And really bad for the skin, hello." At Spike's disdainful look, she just lifted her eyebrows and took a sip of her latte. "Right. Suppose you're not big with caring about little things like the law or my skincare regime."

He unfurled a lazy grin. "I'm all about the flagrant violation, cutie."

"Wait, don't you work here? In this _law_ firm?"

"I don't work anywhere."

"Do you get paid?"

Spike didn't look like he didn't liked where she was going. "There are certain... monetary compensations for my time, yes."

"And you have tasks?"

"On occasion. Mostly I'm the hired muscle."

"Sounds like you work here."

"That's just a technicality."

"A legal technicality?"

"Bite me," he said, and gulped at his coffee. He swallowed heavily and set the mug a little further away from him. He glanced at the cigarette in his hand and tossed it into the mug where it went out with a hiss. 

Cordelia frowned. Some people just didn't appreciate good coffee. An awkward silence fell over the room. It was making her toes curl, being in a room with a vampire who wasn't Angel (and even Angel was only relatively safe) and wasn't baying for her blood. _I can do this_ , she thought, _no problemo. Check me out with the total lack of fear and loathing_. Spike was lost in thought, rubbing at the skin circling his wrist. He stopped when he caught her looking and tugged his sleeves down over his hands.

She lifted her chin towards Angel's office. "So, um, what do you think they're talking about?"

"You. Why you're here. Why you don't remember anything of the last five years. Why you're younger. How to fix it and if they should. Think that about sums it up."

"God." She set her coffee down a little too hard and some of the contents slopped over the side. "This is all too much. I mean it's just too much. I don't need fixed. I haven't done anything. The world's changed, not me. This is a spell. A dream. _Something_. It has to be." She looked at Spike, distraught. "You're being nice. Listening to me. We're having coffee together, for pete's sake. You tell me that's not the world changing, because in my world, you're the evil vampire."

"Things change, Cordelia. Time has passed, that's all. Anything can change given enough time. Trust me on that."

"I don't care! I don't want to live in this bizarro land of the future. God, I just realised. I completely missed the Millennium!"

"Trust me. Hugely overrated. Y2K was a bust."

"Figures. Ugh." She wrapped her arms around her torso. "I just want to go home."

"Home?"

"My parents. Sunnydale. Home."

"Right, home, yeah." Spike shifted his weight. "Angel said your parents didn't figure big in your life."

"I know," she said quietly. "But they're still my family. All I've got."

"That's not true. You've got friends here."

"Were we friends too?"

"No. You were gone by the time I got here."

"Gone? Gone where?"

Spike hesitated. "I don't know if I should tell you all of that. It's not really my place."

"Is it really that bad?"

"I don't know, luv. I wasn't here for most of your adventures. I'm just a last minute addition."

"God," she said again, wringing her hands. "I want to go home." She looked at him beseechingly. "You could help me."

"Me? Oh-ho no. You're not wrangling anything out of me."

"All I need is a car."

"Then I'm definitely not the best one to ask. Cars and I just don't have what you'd call 'lasting relationships'."

"A bus ticket. Anything. I just want to go home."

"Home won't be the same either, you get that, right?"

"I'll worry about that when I get there. Do you know if they still live in Sunnydale?"

"Sunnydale?"

"My parents. Do they still live there?"

"Oh... balls." Spike made a face and scratched at the back of his head. "Listen, about Sunnydale... Sunnydale is... well, it's gone."

Cordelia took a second to process this. "Gone."

"'Fraid so."

"Elaborate."

"Gone. Left. No more. Not here. Gone."

"Ugh. Monosyllabic much? And what the hell do you mean by 'gone'? How the hell does a town _leave_?"

"It's gone. Swallowed by the hellmouth. Fallen off the map. It's a crater."

Cordelia walked on unsteady legs to the nearest chair and sat down. "So it's over? They lost?"

"No, actually, we won."

She looked up at him through a sheen of angry tears. "Could you possibly be a little more cryptic? Because I sure wouldn't want to understand any of this the first time around."

"I'm sorry. Look." He crossed the room and sat down beside her. "This must be killing you, but so much has happened and we've already gone through the hurt and the anguish and the near-death experiences. Some nearer than others. We're at the laughing-through-the-pain and the rose-tinted-reminiscing stage. On to the next crisis, the next apocalypse. You know how it is. It's hard to go back and reopen old wounds, especially when there are so many new ones to deal with."

"I'm familiar with the coping mechanism."

He patted her hand. "I know, ducks. It's page one in the Survivor's Guide to Sunnydale manual."

"Right after Stake Whittling 101." She withdrew her hand. "Could you not do the touchy-feely thing? I'm still having trouble just sitting here talking to you when every molecule is telling me to get with the fleeing and screaming and fleeing."

"You said fleeing twice."

"That's the part I want to do most."

"Glad to see there's _someone_ still scared of me." He grinned, and seemed relieved when she followed suit with a tentative smile. "Listen, people got out. Most everybody got out. Everyone had finally figured out they were living on ground zero in hell and the town emptied before it happened. Great big bloody exodus went on long before the final showdown."

"So you think they're okay? My parents."

"I'd put good money on it."

"What about the others?"

"Everybody got out." A shadow passed over him. "Bar Anya."

"Anya? Do I know her?"

"Xan-- She was a friend. A latter day Scooby. She was... she was quite something."

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry. I'm glad everybody else is okay."

"They did good," Spike said, lost for a moment in the past.

She nodded, and sniffed. "So I'm stuck here."

"For the time being. There's no place like L.A."

"I just feel so lost. Like everybody thinks they know all this stuff about me that I don't. It's stuff I never did. Stuff I'm never _going_ to do. Because it's been and gone already and I wasn't there for it. I don't like it. And-and they're in there discussing what's best for me, and they bundle me off like I'm just a kid."

"How about holding off on the panicking until we get this figured out? Let the brains out there decide if there's anything to be done first. They care about you. Love you, truth be told. If this is reversible, then so be it. If not, we can fill you in on the missing years. Track down the folks if you like. You're not alone. Remember that."

"Wesley said there was nothing that could be done."

"You know very well they're not always right the first time around. And this I know for a fact: they never give up. Maybe we can get an answer from the Powers. Get a direct line to the Higher Beings, whomever and wherever they may be."

"That doesn't sound likely."

"Maybe not. But it's better than nothing. And you never know, you might actually like it here."

"Gotta say, not feeling the optimism."

"Work on it. You've got nothing but time."

She thought this over. Then, "You said 'we'."

"What?"

"You said, 'we can fill you in', 'we can get an answer'. You meant that you'd help me. But you just said you don't know me."

"Metaphorical 'we'. I'm just the hired muscle, remember?"

"Got it." She smiled, and sniffled again. "Think I like you better with a soul."

"Me too, pet. Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

Cordelia loitered outside Angel's office, surreptitiously watching Harmony file things. She watched her type and answer the phone. She was pretty sure that Harmony was perfectly aware that she was being watched, but Cordelia couldn't stop herself. Harmony looked just the same, _exactly_ the same. It was hard to see her and remember that years had passed: years of lives lived and gone and Cordelia had bypassed it all. Harmony, Spike and Angel all looked exactly the same. Only Wesley had changed, only there could she find any tangible proof that this wasn't all just some elaborate cosmic joke at her expense.

Cordelia sidled up to Harmony's desk, trying very hard not to be impressed at the professional air Harmony seemed to have adopted with ease. Harmony greeted her warmly, so Cordelia raised the stakes from not impressed to aloof.

"Hey, Harmony. How's tricks?"

"Oh, you know," Harmony beamed. "Same old, same old, except... Well, except for pretty much everything."

"I hear you're a vampire now."

"Yep. Details of my death have not been exaggerated."

"You don't seem very upset."

"What's to be upset about? Never grow old. Never get sick. Never die. I'm gonna look this good forever, Cordy. Although," she considered, "you keep turning back the clock and you won't have to worry about any of that either."

"Yeah, but you're dead. You drink blood. You're a demon."

"Yeah. There's that whole lack of conscience thing that takes care of that." She glanced around and lowered her voice, like they were just two old friends catching up on gossip. "I hear you have mystical amnesia now."

"Something like that. Nobody's really sure."

"Guess this is what happens when you grow up on a hellmouth. The weird just keeps on coming."

"You don't seem overly upset about that either."

"Meh. I'm doing pretty good here. Bright lights, big city. Good job with Wolfram & Hart that's going to look fantastic on my résumé. It's all good."

"Good. That's... good. I guess." Cordelia made sure there was no one within hearing distance, and leaned in. "Listen, Harmony, could you do something for me?"

"Will it get me in trouble?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

Harmony pouted a little. "Oh. Pity. What do you need?"

"I figured that you'd have your ear to the ground, what with this being such a big stonking global law firm and all."

"Right," agreed Harmony.

"So, do you think you could track someone down for me?"

"Who?"

Cordelia squirmed a little. "Xander Harris."

"Oh, Cordy, eww. You're not still holding a torch, are you? It's been, like, years. Move on already."

"No, it's not like that. Xander embarrassed me enough for one lifetime, trust me. It's just... I'd like to talk to somebody from Sunnydale."

Harmony held out her hands. "Hello! You're looking at her."

"No, I mean, somebody who was there at the end. I'd just like to know how it went. That's all."

"Oh. I get it. Sentimental attachment, right?"

"I guess so. I just need... something. I'm freaking out on a pretty much permanent basis here. And the thought of talking to Buffy or Willow or even Giles is just..."

"I get it. Best of a bad bunch. Gimme a couple of hours. Last I overheard, Xander was tracking down Slayers in Africa. Could be hard to pinpoint him."

"Xander's... Africa? Slayers? Like, Slayers, _plural_? Like more than two plural?"

"And the weird just keeps on coming."

"And how." Cordelia opened her mouth to ask a question, reconsidered, and closed it again. Then her curiosity got the better of her. "Will you show me your vamp face?"

"Oh! Okay. One sec." Harmony screwed up her face like she was concentrating really hard. A hint of a smile appeared and she licked her lips luxuriously.

Cordelia took a step back. "Are you staring at my throat?!"

"I'm just getting myself in the mood. It can take a little oomph sometimes if I'm not feeling very grrr argh, y'know?" Her face transformed: ridges appearing, eyes yellowing, fangs extending. "So, what do you think?" she asked, preening a little.

"God, it's really true." Cordelia saw her hand reaching out to Harmony before she realised what she was doing. "Can I...?"

Harmony shrugged. "Go ahead."

"You won't bite me?"

"Cordy!" Harmony made a show of it, like the very idea was ridiculous. "I make a point of not biting my friends, god! Besides, we get regular blood tests. Company policy."

"Okay." Cordelia touched Harmony's forehead, smoothing over the ridges. "It's a little rough."

"I guess."

"Don't you exfoliate?" Cordelia tilted her head to one side. "And I've always wondered: how do you put on makeup without a reflection?"

Spike came out of Angel's office and was at Cordelia's side in an instant. "Harmony, what's going on?"

Cordelia pulled her hand back sharply, like she'd been caught with it in the cookie jar.

"Hey, Blondie Bear. I was just catching up with Cordy."

"Yeah, well, don't. I don't want to hear of you leading her astray."

"Me? Come on. Cordelia was my friend long before I was ever a vampire. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"In a word? No."

"There was nothing in Angel's stupid rules about who I'm allowed to hang out with," she said petulantly. "So, Cordy, you want to go shopping? It'll be great. Just like old times. Ooh, or we could totally go clubbing. Working for Wolfram & Hart means VIP treatment all over the city."

Spike saved her the trouble of figuring out whether or not this was a good idea. "I don't think that's a good idea, Harm."

"Butt out, Spike. Cordelia's my friend. Or she used to be." She frowned, and Cordelia got the distinct and unpleasant sensation that Harmony was actually looking down her nose, like Cordelia was less than she had been, simply because Harmony had changed and Cordelia had stayed the same, like being a vampire was actually something to be proud of. 

"Keep it that way." Spike led Cordelia away.

"Call me!" Harmony called after them.

"Is she talking to you or me?" Cordelia asked.

"I have no idea. Best just smile and nod, hey?"

Cordelia smiled. Then she nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been three days since Cordelia's miraculous return, and they were no closer to finding an answer to her problem. In fact, with Angel's recent strange moods and the prevailing sense of impending doom that lay thickly over the Wolfram & Hart offices like a winter fog, no progress had been made at all. So Cordelia had taken to wandering around the Wolfram & Hart building, spending a lot of her time in the lab with Fred, who was perfectly willing to take Cordelia under her wing. 

Of all of them, Fred understood what it was like to be sucked out of reality and to lose years of her life to the swirling eddies of confusion and magic. She gave hope to Cordelia, grounding her, filling in some of the blanks and making her laugh with a few of the happier anecdotes about the Angel Investigations team, even if she hadn't perfected hiding her alarm at the selfish streak Cordelia now wore with pride. She also performed a barrage of tests in the hopes that if it wasn't a purely mystical problem then perhaps science could provide the answer. The answer, so far, seemed to be a resounding "no".

The rest of Cordelia's time she spent with either working out in the Wolfram & Hart executive gym, watching copious amounts of television, or with Spike or Wesley, getting under their feet. While Wesley was keeping himself at a distance, Spike was actually enjoying her company. She was coping better than he'd expected and had the natural ability to make him smile: a rare pastime indeed. 

Moreover, she reminded him of the early years he'd spent in Sunnydale, in an abstract sort of fashion. He had only been peripherally aware of her in Sunnydale and she had known him only as a smarter-than-the-average-vampire to be avoided at all costs. But life had been simpler then, when Spike knew his place in the world, when Slayers were to be hated and devoured, love lasted forever, and the world was ripe for the picking. In an odd way, being in Cordelia's company brought it all back to life for him. He liked her and he wanted to help lift the weight off her shoulders, so the fact that Angel had been ensconced in his office for most of the past three days was really beginning to piss Spike off.

"You ignoring her isn't going to help matters. You do know that, right, Angel? Tell me the words are getting through here and they're not all bouncing off that great sloping forehead of yours."

"Spike, I'm busy. I happen to have a rather large company to run. And besides that, why the hell do you care?"

"I care because she's scared but she doesn't want anyone to know it. And she's hacked off that no one will tell her what's to be done. I don't blame her. You have all these resources at your command and yet nothing's happening. Maybe if you'd just talk to her then she'd--"

"What do you want me to say to her? Hey, sorry, Cordelia, but we kind of have more going on here right now than just you. Take a number and get in line?"

"That'd be a start. At least you'd be talking to her like an adult."

"She's not an adult. Not anymore. She doesn't even know me. It's not like I'm the one that she's turning to for support."

"So she's on her own? Jesus, Angel, that's cold. I thought you were supposed to be in love with the girl."

Angel burst out of his seat, looking like he fully intended to launch himself over the desk and punch Spike repeatedly in the face until all the annoying little words stopped coming out, but Gunn laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Chill, Angel, chill. Take a seat, boss man. Find your happy place. We're all a little on edge right now. Saying things we don't mean."

"Speak for yourself, Charlie-boy," Spike said as Angel reluctantly retook his seat. "I meant every word."

"Look," said Gunn, "I know your heart's in the right place--" He ignored a little "humph!" from Lorne, who was sitting on one of the couches leafing through some contracts. "--but Angel's got a point. Cordy's got a problem, yeah, and we're going to help her, but she's not hurting and it's not life-threatening. So right now, we gotta focus on what's front and centre. You see what I'm saying?"

"I see exactly what you're saying," Spike said. "And from the time I spent wandering these halls like Casper the undead ghost, it's all sounding rather familiar."

"Hey, I like this just about as much as you do, but we're swamped." Gunn grabbed a handful of papers at random off the stack on the table in front of him. "Right here. We've got some giant demon bug hatching in the sewers -- can't ever get enough of them -- vampire gangs are on the increase again, and somebody or something has been bumping off residents in old folk's homes all over the city and eating their pituitary glands." He made a face and tossed the pages down. "Not to mention some nefarious Wolfram & Hart End of Days thing going on that we don't have the first clue about, which is great, seeing as Angel's in the hot-seat. Much as I hate to say it, but Cordelia's just going to have to wait."

"That's the best you've got to offer?" Spike asked.

"Look, I've been to the White Room. They say that they cannot and do not interfere with the workings of the Higher Beings. Unequivocally. They don't know why she's here, but anything that causes disharmony to Angel is fine by them." 

He glanced at Angel and shrugged his apology. Angel barely reacted.

Spike chewed this over. "Fine," he said. "The Greater Good muscles in yet again. Just don't forget about her." He looked meaningfully at Angel. "People get forgotten around here they're likely to vanish into the ether."

"Nobody wants that," Angel said.

"Saying and doing, mate," Spike said, heading for the door. "Two very different things."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Angel episode 5.13 "Why We Fight".

Angel sat in the quiet of his office, looking out over the skyline. He could still smell Lawson's dust on his clothes -- the scent of _intruder_ , the scent of _family_ \-- still hear the echo of his last words. " _Come on, chief. Give me a mission_."

Today, his friends had suffered. Through the years, countless innocents had suffered and died, over and over and over again, world without end, all because Angel hadn't been able to kill one lousy vampire. He was so tired of living to regret his mistakes. He should have staked Lawson instead of setting him free. Standing on that submarine all those years ago, the weight of mankind's war heavy on his shoulders, Angel had known that one day he'd have to pay. He didn't owe Lawson a thing. Far from it: he had only used the man as a tool. Unfortunate, but the price was one that had to be paid. 

But when all was said and done, Angel had let him go, setting him loose on an unsuspecting world, doing the man's memory a grave disservice. Just like he'd let Drusilla go when she'd come to him in Sunnydale. Just like he'd never quite been able to do away with Spike, no matter how many run-ins they'd had over the years, no matter what the justification. 

Such a weak spot he sheltered for his assorted children, his favoured few. And it was a dangerous weakness. But he'd hoped Lawson would somehow have been different: the first and only vampire ever to be turned by a vampire with a soul. Angel should have known better. His soul wasn't enough to save anyone.

He wondered if one day he'd simply reach breaking point, finally become immune to the never-ending guilt and remorse. He'd seen the fear in Cordelia when she'd been strung up side-by-side with the others, seen her loathing for being dragged into yet another nightmare, one that was wholly of Angel's making.

"Really ought to do something about security," Spike said from the doorway. "They'll let anybody in here, won't they?" He strolled to Angel's side and stared out at the city. "Fred gave me the Cliff Notes. So sailor boy finally came back for a yo-ho-ho, did he?"

"Finally came back."

"And how. Looks like this is your week for blasts from the past."

"Looks like."

"Angel, Angel, Angel," Spike sighed, shaking his head slowly. "'Tis a twisted life you lead and no mistake."

"You and me both."

"Granted. What do you think it all means?"

"'It'?"

"On one hand you've got an oh-so poignant reminder of mistakes made in years gone by, a son of sorts returned to you in demon form, looking for answers and on the prowl for revenge, and the other, you've got Cordelia on the prowl for... god alone knows. Pretty shoes and fancy frocks and baubles, most likely."

"Jesus, Spike. She's not just..." Angel shook his head. "And Lawson was hardly my son. He wasn't even half-- Besides, I don't think revenge is what he was after."

"No? Then what was he looking for?"

"A reason," Angel whispered, guilt robbing him of his voice.

"Aren't we all," Spike said, not entirely without compassion. "And Cordelia?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I keep expecting to hear that she's gone."

"Gone?"

"That she's upped and left. She doesn't owe me anything, after all. None of this means anything to her."

"Give it time. We might find a solution."

"We might," Angel said. He watched Spike's profile, thoughtful.

"In the meantime, have you even checked on her?" Spike asked.

"No, I--"

"You great oik. She was in there, hanging by her neck because of you, and you don't even-- I'll never understand you, you know that?"

"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?"

"Tell you what, Angel. You just sit on your flabby arse here in the dark and let the world fall apart around you. Nobody knows what on god's green earth you're up to, and tonight hasn't exactly helped matters on the trust front." Angel opened his mouth to reply, but Spike just held up his hand, and pushed himself up from the desk. "You know what, save it. I'm going for a drink. Next time I see you, you better have pulled your socks up. Get out of the bloody doldrums. People rely on you here. Just, I don't know, get over yourself."

"And if I can't?"

Spike paused in the doorway. He seemed to consider the question, then grinned, but there was a dark edge to it. "I don't bloody know. It's your show, mate."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Angel episode 5.14 "Smile Time".

Spike stalked the Wolfram & Hart corridors, out for Angel's blood. He paused and scented the air. He didn't have to hunt very hard: all signs were pointing to Angel's office. Of course, because where else would Angel be? It wasn't like he ever left to do anything else. He was always holed up in there, scheming and plotting and god only knew what else behind closed doors.

Spike passed Nina as she fled Angel's office. She looked upset and didn't notice him as she hurried past. The whiff of werewolf pheromones she put out made his nose itch. He didn't know how Angel could spend time with the girl and not get a serious attack of sneezes. Although now that Cordelia was still on the scene, he suspected that Nina was going to find out that she was little more than a footnote in the history of Angel's life. Poor girl might even have to get her own cage sorted out now that she wouldn't be getting the personalised treatment from Angel any longer. Then again, Spike figured, Angel was a thorough sort of a fellow when there was do-gooding to be done. He'd probably see her right.

He barged into Angel's office. This was it. This was absolutely it. He was going to get a car this time and wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Hello, big guy! About that car I needed. Any movement on that front at all, because frankly--"

His gaze lighted on Angel, sitting at his desk. 

Angel was a puppet. 

This really wasn't something that Spike had been expecting. 

It just wasn't.

"Look at you," Spike said, a little awestruck. His brain stalled, trying to come to terms with this new anomaly. It wasn't quite registering that Angel was sitting at his desk, looking relatively calm (but then, he may not have been reading Angel quite right. Who knew with puppet nuances?) and he was a puppet. 

Angel was a puppet. 

Spike didn't know how or why Angel was a puppet, but one thing shone through loud and clear: it was bloody hilarious.

Angel waved his hands, shooing Spike away. His tiny, three-fingered, fuzzy little hands. "Just turn around and walk away."

"You're a--"

"Spike!"

Spike started to laugh: great whooping, uncontrollable belly laughs. This was possibly the single greatest spectacle he'd witnessed in his long and complicated existence, and he'd witnessed a few. 

"You're a bloody puppet!"

With zero warning, Angel launched himself from his chair, vaulted over his desk and hit Spike with enough force to send them both crashing through the office windows and out into the lobby to land in a shower of broken glass. Spike was very impressed at the manoeuvre. Angel had lost his weight advantage, but that didn't stop the little guy from pinning Spike to the floor and wringing his neck. It was a good thing Spike didn't need the air to breathe, because he was using up his full supply on laughter.

"You're a wee little puppet man!" he managed to get out between guffaws. So Angel punched him in the face. It didn't hurt like one of Angel's serious punches but there was steel inside that fuzzy felt glove. "Ow!" Spike exclaimed, so Angel punched him harder. "Ow! Hey! That's enough."

Spike pushed Angel off him. He misjudged the force he needed and ended up throwing Angel high in the air. Like a cat -- a puppet cat -- Angel landed deftly on his feet and glared at Spike.

"Angel, what happened to you?" Spike said, getting to his feet. "I know I told you to get your act in gear, but I don't really see how this accomplishes that."

"Get out of here, Spike."

Harmony stood by her work station, hand over her heart. "Oh, my God. Angel, you're a--"

"Shut up!" Angel pointed at her, a sharp little slash of a gesture, cutting her off. He looked around the lobby and realised everyone was staring at him. Spike grinned, certain that Angel had been doing his damnedest to keep his condition under wraps. "What are you people looking at?" Angel demanded. "Well?" He seemed marginally placated when the assorted employees backed off, frightened.

Spike, of course, had no such compunction. "They're looking at the wee little puppet man."

Angel growled and leaped towards Spike, sinking his teeth into Spike's forearm. It was more like a particularly vicious pinch than a bite, no sharp teeth Spike supposed, but it still hurt like hell. He yelped in pain and tried to dislodge Angel from his arm, bashing him off a wall several times, but to no avail. Together, they stumbled into an open elevator, still wrestling as the doors close on them.

"Stupid limey piece of crap!" Angel growled. He used all his strength and Spike's momentum against him to smash Spike's head against the wall. Spike swayed, dazed, and collapsed to the floor of the elevator. The elevator pinged and the doors opened. Angel looked up at a crowd of gathered employees. He held out his arms in an angry "what?" gesture. "Yes," he snapped. "I'm a puppet. Doesn't mean you don't have work to do."

The crowd dispersed as Spike struggled to his feet, trying to clear the ringing from his ears. Angel marched back to his office. 

"Harmony," he snarled. "Get my call list." Harmony watched him go, confused. "And Spike needs a car," he added.

Surprised, Spike's face lit up at the prospect of impending vehicular emancipation. "You heard the puppet," he said.

"That's right," said Angel, as he disappeared into his office. "And whatever you do, you're not to give him one."

Angel slammed the door behind him, dislodging a few shards of glass which tinkled to the carpet.

Spike could only stand there, because really, what did one do after such an interlude? Part of him wanted to go back into the office and just stare at Angel for a while. Just look, that was all. No harm in a look, was there? Just so he could commit the image to memory. He even had the urge to call a few choice people, just to let them know. 

He was just puzzling over the technicalities of working the camera in his phone when Cordelia arrived. She stood in the midst of all the broken glass and frowned at the very busy looking employees.

"What happened here?"

Spike grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Not sure I believe it myself."

Cordelia put her hands on her hips. "Come on, spit it out. What's the what?"

"Heh. I'd love to tell you, but I think you'll have more fun if you ask Angel yourself."

"Fun and Angel in the same sentence? Why am I getting wiggy feeling about this?

Spike pointed to Angel's office. "Go on. Go have a look see. You won't regret it."

 

\---

 

Cordelia raised her fist to knock on Angel's door, but there seemed little point, considering the gaping hole in the window, so she just let herself in. 

"Angel, hey, are you in here?" There was silence in the room. "I know you're in here," she called. "I can hear you brooding."

Still no reply.

"Damn it, Angel, are you hiding from me? Lay off with the unreachable vampire routine. I've been here like a week already and being around all these lawyers and science geeks day in and day out is getting to be like watching paint dry with wet sand in my underwear. You hearing me? That's boring _and_ irritating, dead guy." She put her hand on her hip. "Are you even listening to me? I'm getting really tired of hanging around waiting for you to figure something out."

"Cordelia," Angel said tiredly, swinging his chair around to face her. "Now is really not the time."

Cordelia's eyes widened and she stood very still. "You're a Muppet."

"And so it begins." Angel cast his gaze heavenward, seeking divine intervention. "Nobody told you?" 

"I'd have come sooner if they had. Aren't you just the cutest little fuzzy vampire thing? You're like... a Care Bear with fangs!" Mirth took over. Angel, by this stage, was used to this response and waited almost patiently for her to recover from her giggles. Cordelia cleared her throat and tried to hold it together. "Okay. Puppet. I can see how that would be a pain in the-- Hey, do you have a hand-hole or are you more of a strings kinda guy?"

Angel covered his face with both hands and took a long, soul-stretching sigh. "Moving on from the puppet issue--"

"Is it permanent?"

"God, I hope not."

"Can you vamp out like this?"

"I haven't tried."

"Will you try? And then go, "One, ha ha ha! Two, ha ha ha!" for me?"

" _No_."

"Go on. We could get you a little cape. It'd be so cute!"

"Cordelia--"

"Can I take pictures?"

"No. Big no."

"But you should have at least a couple. For posterity. So one day you can look back on this and laugh. Which will totally crack your face, but that's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Cordelia, enough about the _puppetry_ ," Angel ground out between his clenched felt teeth. "I'm sure it's all very amusing--"

"Amusing? Try hilarious. Try knockdown, drag out, split-your-sides hysterical. God, if only Xander could see you now."

"Enough, okay? This reaction is just getting to be old hat and I just wish everybody could shut the hell up about it. Sure, it's cute on the outside, and everybody can have big yuks at my expense, but there's magic at work here, and somebody, somewhere is going to be suffering as a result. So just get over it already."

Cordelia folded her arms. "You don't have to be such a dick about it."

"Excuse me?"

"So you're a puppet. Jeez. Worse things have happened."

"Like _what_ exactly?"

"Like losing your soul, going on a murderous rampage and trying to end the world. Or have you forgotten that already? Is that 'old hat'?"

"No. Of course not. I--"

"That's what I thought. Now, I've been quiet for way too long. I want to know what you're going to do."

"Do?"

"Duh! About me? I'm not just going away, you know. You've got a big fat Cordelia Chase problem on your hands, short-stack. Without the fat, natch."

Angel hopped down off his chair and came around the desk to talk to her. She supposed that when you were only three feet tall, sitting behind the big imposing desk just wasn't as much fun as usual. "I've actually been giving this a little thought."

"And?"

"And I think we should find you somewhere else to live."

"What? You're kicking me out? You're just going to sweep me under the rug and forget about me?"

"No! No, nothing like that. It's just... This place is..." He searched for a better way to put it, but came up empty. "Well, it's evil."

"Evil? You're telling me that this law firm -- which, FYI, you run -- is evil?"

He gave a weak little one-shouldered shrug.

"Angel, it's just a law firm. Which, okay, skirting the grey saggy edge of morality, sure, but evil?"

"Why don't we have a seat and I'll tell you all about Wolfram & Hart."

"Is this going to be another of those really long lectures about more sucky, horrible things from my life here that could kill me at any nanosecond?"

"Probably."

"Cliff Notes version?"

"Like I said. It's evil."

"Evil with a capital E?"

"Evil with a capital everything."

"So where am I going?"

"To the-- Wait. Just like that? No argument?"

"Hey, we could sit here and bat it back and forth all day, but I'm at the point where if you say it's evil, I'm down with that."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

"Yeah, and staying here was kind of like hanging out in an H&R Block anyway. You have somewhere else in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"We going now?"

"No time like the present."

"Does this mean I get to drive your car?"

"Ha. I don't think so. I'm driving."

"Oh yeah? How you going to reach the pedals, pipsqueak?"

Angel's eyebrows bunched in consternation. "We'll take a limo," he decided. "No problem."

"A limo? So you're quite the Donald Trump now, huh?"

"I suppose the perks are quite--"

"Forget the perks. I'm talking remuneration. How many pieces of silver they paying you?"

"More than thirty."

"Good for you. It's refreshing to see a vampire make good in the world instead of climbing out of their grave and then thinking that living in a derelict building or a crypt is taking a step up, y'know?"

Angel could only blink at her.

 

\---

 

One chauffeur-driven trip across town later, and Cordelia stood in the lobby of the Hyperion, looking around her in a less than enamoured fashion.

"This is it? This is your big plan? Are you sure I used to live here?"

"We all did. Trust me: it was a big step up from your first apartment. That reminds me, Phantom Dennis might like to--"

"I lived here." She wandered across the lobby, lifted a corner of a dust sheet from one of the couches and immediately regretted it. "Welcome to Dustville," she said, wafting the cloud away from her face. "Population: me."

"It's not so bad. I can get it cleaned for you." He frowned. "Although that might lead to the place being bugged again. I'd better use outside contractors."

"I'm scared by the levels of security you have to go to."

"You never know who's watching. And we learn by our mistakes. Mostly."

She peered up the stairs. "So where did I stay?"

"Third floor."

"Not the penthouse?"

"The roof leaks."

"Honeymoon suite?"

"Structural damage."

"You don't say."

"Demon fight. Most of the furniture got busted up. Couple of big holes in the internal walls."

"I see. The third floor will be fine. En suite?"

"Yes."

"Groovy. Lead the way."

"After you." He extended his arm, but before he could take a step the shrill sound of a ringing phone interrupted them. "One second," he said, and pulled out his cell phone.

Cordelia grinned broadly. "Even your phone is felt! You have a puppet phone. That's so cute. Hey, is that the _Fraggle Rock_ theme tune?"

"No! And it's not cute! But y'know, it's weird. It actually gets better reception this way."

Angel tried not to notice Cordelia's delight as she watched, entranced, as it took him several attempts to hit answer, his felt fingers too clumsy for the little buttons.

"This is Angel. ... You saw Framkin? How did it go? ... Really? He just _disagreed_? That's all? ... Gunn, are you sure you couldn't have-- ... Yeah, yeah, I know. Violence isn't always the answer. Okay, okay. I'll come back in. ... Oh. She did? Listen," he glanced at Cordelia shifted the phone to his other ear, lowering his voice. "Could you tell her I can't make it tonight? She knows where the cage is. ... Hey, I am not trying to be cold, it's just-- ... Yeah. Yeah, I am. ... Okay, thanks." Another brief fumble with the phone, muttering "Stupid fingers," under his breath, and he eventually managed to disconnect the call. "I have to go."

"You're leaving me here?"

"That was Gunn. We're coming up short on leads. Wes and Fred are reviewing old episodes of _Smile Time_ and it's kind of all we have to go on."

"Not sounding so promising."

"Tell me about it. I thought I could go make sure they're giving it their full attention. Then I can find whoever did this to me." He realised he had crushed his phone in his anger and released his fist. The phone expanded back into shape. "The sooner the better."

"But you're leaving me here? Alone?"

"It won't be for long. I can come right back after--"

"What if you die?"

Angel gave her a little smile, touched at her concern. "I won't die, Cordy. I promise."

"I mean, does anybody else even know that I'm here? Anything could happen to me."

Angel sagged. "I can get someone to come over and wait with you if you like."

"Wesley?"

The hope in her voice made Angel want to throw things. "Sorry, he's on the clock."

"Spike?"

Angel wanted to throw bigger things. "Sure. Spike. I'll give him a call."

"How about you give the cleaning crew a call and I'll move in tomorrow. This place is pretty uninhabitable."

Angel looked around, seeing the place through her eyes. It wasn't exactly appealing. "I guess you're right. Sorry. I don't always see things the same way as..."

"People?"

"People. Right."

"It's understandable."

"You think?"

"Sure. You are a puppet, after all. A vampire puppet. That's hardly people. You're probably stuffed with old socks or something."

"Cordelia?"

"Yeah?"

"If I growl at you right now would you take it the wrong way?"

"If I did take it the wrong way could I drive back to the office?"

"No."

"Then yes."

"All right then." Angel drew himself up to his full height and tugged smartly on the hem of his little shirt. "Glad we got that settled."


	7. Chapter 7

"You see the secret to picking locks," Spike said, his eyes closed in concentration, "is patience."

Cordelia rested against the arm of one of Angel's leather couches, looking mildly ill-at-ease with what they were doing. "You don't say."

"That and really good hearing. So that when the pins move you can-- Ha!" He flashed a triumphant smile as the door to Angel's drinks cabinet sprung open. "Et voila. The Promised Land."

"Angel's going to be pissed when he gets back."

"Not half as pissed as we're going to be on this stuff." He held a bottle up to the light, admiring the hue of the liquid inside. "Besides, if Angel hasn't dusted me for some of the tomfoolery I've got up to in the past, then breaking into his tax-deductible stash really isn't going to rate high."

"But he might..." She faltered, trying to figure out the ratings scale for vampiric reprisals. "Beat you up."

Spike pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and spat it away. "Bonus," he said, and grabbed two glasses.

"I can't even find the words to express how wrong that is."

"I know, I know." Spike nodded as he made his way to the couch. "Brandy in a tumbler. But those poncey snifter glasses always make me feel like such a poser." He poured two very healthy measures and handed her one. 

Cordelia hesitated. "This isn't strictly legal, you know."

"Says who?" he asked, pressing the glass on her. "You're, what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"

"Eighteen," she said, and bravely took a gulp.

"Tell that to your driver's license. Besides, if you had been born somewhere other than the US of I-wouldn't-do-that-if-I-were-you, you'd have been drinking since you were knee-high to a grasshopper." He smiled when Cordelia's eyes bulged as the brandy hit her taste buds. "You should probably sip that," he advised.

"Thanks," she said, trying not to choke. "I'll try an' keep that in mind."

"You know you're looking a little peaky, luv. Is everything okay? I mean apart from the obvious thrown-into-the-future, living-with-vampires, life-being-turned-upside-down thing."

"Oh, _apart_ from that?" She took another sip of her drink. "I'm just... Ugh. More of the same. I was hoping that getting out of Sunnydale would signal the end of all this Slayer-related stuff. But here I am, and it looks like I'm never going to be free of it."

"It does have a habit of following you around."

"But why? _Why_? I was perfectly happy living in blissful, popular ignorance before Buffy showed up and totally ruined my life."

"Now that I can relate to."

"But you're sort of stuck with the demons and the magic, right? I mean it's part of you. You have the whole vamp package. But me? I'm nobody. I'm nothing. I just want to be a hugely successful actress. Not so much to ask, right? Then one day I can meet this Orlando Bloom guy, move to Malibu, and die happy."

"The demons and the magic are everywhere, Delia. Everywhere. Once you know what to look for it's kind of hard not to see it."

"But it keeps paying more and more attention to me! Like only a couple of days ago I was strung up by my neck. My _neck_! That's the kind of trauma I really don't need in my life, you know?"

Spike blinked, trying to place the reference. "Oh! You mean what's-his-name. Sailor boy. Lawson. Sorry, I didn't know. I wasn't here. But you got through it, though, right? Angel seemed to have the situation in hand."

"I guess. Eventually. Must seem pretty lame to you. After all you've been through just one vampire isn't even a blip on your radar."

"Not so much, no. Most vampires younger than me aren't much of a challenge. A good few of the older ones are pretty wet, too. But you're only human; just finding your feet. You'll get there."

"You think?"

"I know. Remember you had a much gentler learning curve last time around. You had years to get to this point. So I think you'll do just fine." He topped up her glass, ignoring her protests. "Go on. It's good for the nerves."

The face she pulled at the taste reminded him so much of Buffy that he had to look away. He took another swallow and wondered what the chances were of Cordelia letting him smoke without an argument. Slim to none, most probably. He figured a change of subject was in order. "So, ah, what did you make of our new Angel?"

"What, all three feet of him?"

He grinned, glad to be back on familiar ground, and there was no ground more familiar with than the hallowed ground that was mocking Angel. "Pretty funny, huh?"

"Oh god, I couldn't help it. I laughed right in his face."

"Yeah, I hear he's been getting a lot of that."

"It's just, it's Angel. Broody, tall, soul-weary, black-wearing, cryptic-guy _Angel_. And now he's..."

"Tickle Me Angel?"

"Yup." She grinned expansively. "We should totally get him little outfits to wear. A cowboy suit or something."

"He'd make a fantastic Oompa Loompa. A bit of orange face-paint, a little curly-up wig, and Bob's your uncle."

"Absolutely. Did you see it when something exciting happens? Or when he likes something? He's just so--"

"Eager? Expressive? Cute as a button?"

"All of the above. His fuzzy little eyebrows? They just kill me."

Spike leaned in. "You know a little bird told me that earlier he sneezed and his nose flew off."

"No!" Her laughter rang out. "No way."

Angel chose this fortuitous moment to open the door of his office and was greeted by the sight of Cordelia, sitting with Spike, doubled over with laughter, a large glass of brandy in one hand, and tears running down her face. He eyed the scene in the office, his displeasure obvious.

"How do, little man," Spike said by way of greeting, smirking when he saw Angel's jealous glare at Cordelia's hand resting on his knee. "Did we fight the good fight?"

"We kicked the good fight's ass." Spike had to give it to him. In spite of everything -- Cordelia's laughter, Spike's complete and total lack of concern -- Angel was still able to manage a blissful smile as he announced, "I'm going to be myself again."

"Bully for you," Spike said, and managed to make it sound almost heartfelt.

"Two, three days tops." Angel clambered up onto a chair and relaxed, short little arms and legs akimbo.

Spike nudged Cordelia. "Look at that, poor little guy's all tuckered out."

Cordelia hooted.

Angel didn't move, but narrowed his eyes at Spike. "Don't test me, boy. I still have the proportionate excitability of a puppet my size. And I seem to remember kicking your ass earlier."

Cordelia wiped tears from her eyes. "Wow, really? Suddenly looking a whole lot less scary, Spike."

Spike was in too good a mood to be fazed by this and merely mooched in his seat. "It's sorta hard to be in the zone for fighting back when you can't see straight for laughing. Takes the edge off."

Cordelia smiled at the two of them and had the glass halfway to her mouth for another sip when she paused. Spike watched it happen: the smile sliding off her face, the little frown as she looked back and forth between the two vampires in the room and then at the glass in her hand. She set the glass down very precisely in the centre of one of Angel's froofy silver coasters. Spike sighed softly, rolling his own glass in his palm as he stared into its depths. It looked like Cordelia had remembered her sensibilities where vampires were concerned.

"Well," she said, faking a yawn. "Think I'll turn in. Gotta get my beauty sleep for the big move tomorrow."

Angel lifted his chin and Spike tipped his glass, not bothering to watch as she left the room. Couldn't be easy, he supposed. Cordelia had once been of the Xander Harris school of thought where vampires were concerned. Namely: the only good vampire is a pile of dust.

The two vampires in question sat in amicable silence for a time, sprawled out in their chairs. Spike filtered through what Cordelia had said and rolled his head on the back of the couch to look at Angel. 

"What big move?"

"She's going to the Hyperion. I want her out of Wolfram & Hart."

"You think that's wise? Putting her out by herself?"

"She won't be by herself, and I think she'll be safer somewhere away from all this."

Spike shrugged. "Hard to say. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, really."

Angel gave a little nod and sighed. Spike saw him eyeing the brandy, and wondered if booze would have any impact at all on Angel's stuffing insides or if he'd just end up soggy.

"Are you still moping?" Spike asked.

Angel didn't answer, but Spike knew how his mind worked.

"I knew it," Spike said. "You're so pathetic, you know that?"

"I love how you always give me your opinion like I've actually asked you for it."

Spike pursed his lips. "Look, you've got her back. You lost her, but she's back. Ripe for the taking. And what are you doing? Sitting in the dark, brooding about how it could all go wrong. That's why you're pathetic."

"I. Am. A. _Puppet_. How hard is that for you to grasp?"

"And she thinks it's cute. It's a very novel way to get her to relax around you."

"So she's relaxed. That won't last long once I'm not made out of felt. I don't want to overwhelm her. She's got enough to worry about without me crowding her."

"What are you protecting her from? It's her life. She managed fine with it the last time. Show a little faith."

"I don't know where to start."

"Wesley said to treat it like amnesia. So show her her stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Her _stuff_. Don't tell me you don't have it squirreled away somewhere. You always were a hoarder. Show her her things. Evidence of her life here. Pictures and the like. Things that are likely to jog her memory." Spike rolled his eyes. "God, and they say I'm the one who can't do detective work around here."

"Oh," said Angel, brightening. "I do still have her things in storage. I've been keeping them safe for her. Y'know, for when she woke up. She'd probably get a kick out of it. She did before. There, ah, there was this spell we did a while back. A memory-restoration spell."

"Christ. You mean this has happened more than once?"

"That was different."

"Different but the same."

"Like you've never fallen victim to a spell before."

"Not anything that fucks with your memory. I wouldn't be caught dead with anything remotely like--" An annoying memory tapped Spike on his shoulder, reminding him of jackets made with care for Randy and impassioned speeches about helping the helpless. "Yeah. Anyway. So what was that about her things?"

"I have her clothes and some photos and things. Yeah. I'll show her. Couldn't hurt, right?"

"Yah-bloody-hoo."

"On that note, I'm going to bed." Angel slid off his chair. Spike bit hard on the inside of his cheeks at the way Angel had to roll onto his tummy, his little legs waggling in the air before he slid down enough for them to touch the floor. 

"Your sleeping schedule is even more of a mess than mine."

"Early meeting," Angel said. "Oh, hey," he added, turning to face Spike as he kept walking backwards out of the office. "Didn't you need a car?"

"Very funny, Angel."

"Keys are in the top drawer if you change your mind. Knock yourself out." He walked out the door and gave Spike a little mock-salute through the frosted glass of the brand new windows. "Literally would be fine!" he called as he disappeared.

Spike scowled, but dragged himself up, went to the drawer and fished out a set of keys. 

"These better not be for a Pinto!" he yelled.

 

\---

 

Angel made his way to the elevator, but instead of jumping for the penthouse button, he hit the one at his eye-level for the basement instead. Nina would be in her cage by now, and Angel figured that having a set of good solid bars between them would probably be a bonus for the conversation he was about to have. 

With a heavy heart, he tried out some openers. There was always the classic: "It's not you, it's me." An excellent way to get heavy, pointy things thrown at his head. Or how about: "I'm just getting out of a difficult relationship and I need a little 'me time'." He thought that maybe he could just go with: "Hey, lady. I'm a puppet. I can't go out with you when I only come up to your knee."

"Nina," he said aloud. "I'm so sorry. I'm in love with somebody else."

Angel hung his head and let the elevator carry him down and down.


	8. Chapter 8

Cordelia trailed her finger over a shelf in the Hyperion and smiled when it came away clean. "You know, I like this place a lot better without the dust."

Angel stood to one side in the shadows. As a puppet, he was even more at home in the dark than usual. Less people could see him that way. At least his voice hadn't changed, he supposed. He couldn't have dealt with sounding like Mickey Mouse on top of everything else.

"I had some repairs done too."

Cordelia stood in the middle of the lobby and looked up into the main body of the hotel. "No more holes in walls?"

"Not for the first couple of floors anyway. It's a bit rough and ready -- there was only so much that could be done in a day -- but it's more than we could have hoped for before."

"Before Evil Incorporated, you mean."

Angel shrugged. He knew it. Everyone knew it.

"You think they used evil spackle?" Cordelia asked, examining the mended walls. 

"I don't know about that. Some of the cleaning crew looked a little morally ambiguous. But everyone's got to earn a living, right?"

"Y'know, I'm sure there's a handy metaphor about why you shouldn't use evil money. Something about ends and means, but it's funny -- I'm coming up dry."

Angel sighed. "I know. It's a tough call. But the money was already there when we arrived." He hunched his shoulders, aware of precisely how lame he sounded. "But we've been turning down a lot of cases lately, or at least arguing them our way so as we're out of the black areas and all the way over into the... grey."

"Well, I'm convinced."

Angel fidgeted. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Money's money. Pretty sure I'll spend it no matter what colour it is." She eyed him. "Are you having an expression or is your stuffing just bulging?"

"Sorry. I'm just remembering you sniffing out money. In the literal sense."

"Oh, that." She waved her hand. "It's a thing."

"I thought I was the one with the powerful sense of smell."

"I can't do it with anything else. Just money. It's really more of a sixth sense than a nose thing."

"An interesting talent."

"You betcha. And you know, it's weird. The less money I actually have, the better I am at sniffing it out."

"Bizarre."

"You going to show me my room now?"

He led the way up the stairs, trying valiantly not to notice the way Cordelia grinned at the sight of him hopping up each step. They walked along a hallway and stopped outside a door. Angel nudged the door and let it swing open, and Cordelia walked in with small steps.

The room smelled a little musty; the furniture covered with dust sheets. There were a few cardboard boxes strewn on the floor. Angel watched her carefully, but there were no sudden startling revelations. It was more disappointing than he'd been expecting.

"Go on," he said. "Look around. It's all yours."

Cordelia opened a box at random and let out an excited little peep when she saw it was full of clothes.

"Clothes? I have clothes here? Real clothes?"

Clothes flew through the air. A rainbow arc of flying fashion hid her from view. When the dust settled, she was standing in front of a full-length mirror, holding a shirt up to her chest. "What's with all these mom shirts? Did my fashion sense take a sharp downturn in the last five years?"

Wisely, Angel took the question as a hypothetical.

"I guess the cleavage is always a good look, but didn't I have _anything_ designer? I didn't bring anything with me from Sunnydale?" She turned this way and that, and sighed heavily. "I really need to go shopping."

"We can do that."

Cordelia turned slowly to face him. "I'm sorry. I could have sworn that you just said that we could go shopping."

He gave a little shrug. "You usually love it when I buy you clothes, and we have all these expense accounts now and nothing much to spend it on so--"

"Wait. Wait. I'm kind of zinging back and forth between -- yay! You buy me clothes! and -- excuse me? You buy me clothes? You see why I'm having trouble with this?"

"I see it. But it's quite--"

"I just figured you for kind of a cheapo. Y'know, because of the being born two hundred years ago thing. Inflation is a bitch, after all."

"Cheapo? Me?" he said, unable to keep the indignation out of his voice, his little three-fingered hand spread wide on his chest. "You really think I'm cheap? I ever tell you about the time we stole the Axis of Pythia to rescue you?"

"The Axis of what now?"

"Pythia. Worth about thirty-three million on the open market."

"What, _dollars_?"

"Uh huh."

"Shut up."

"Really."

"Shut _up_."

"I'm telling you. You can ask Gunn if you don't believe me."

"You still have it?"

"Well, no, I--"

"Did you sell it and invest the proceeds?"

"No, you see we had to--"

"Oh," she said, a little crushed. "That is just such a shame. Hey, but we can still go shopping, right? No take-backs."

"You bet."

"Okay." She tossed the shirt away, clasped her hands together and headed for the door. "Well then. Let's go. Time's a-wastin'."

"Wait, wait." He gestured to himself. "Still a puppet."

She frowned. "Puppet. Right. How about I strap you to my back?"

Angel could only stare.

"We could pretend like you were one of those teddy-bear back packs," she explained. "You know, like the Elmo ones?"

"Would that plan involve storing things inside me? Because, honestly, that I could live without."

"Yeah. That could be a little overly with the familiar. How about we pretend like you're a toy I'm carrying around with me. Like I just bought you?"

"That plan might fall down when it comes time for me to sign for the stuff we buy."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "You could just loan me your credit card."

"And without the slightest hint of irony, I'm going to say that I wasn't born yesterday."

She twisted her lips in thought. "How about--"

"How about we wait till I'm back to myself."

"But we could--"

"Cordelia," he said firmly.

She pouted, screwing up her face in a way that Angel resolutely did not find adorable. "Fine. I suppose I can wait."

"Why don't you look through the rest of your things here?" he suggested. "You're bound to find something you like. You did choose most of it, after all." He watched as she went back to the boxes, lifting armfuls of clothes onto the bed, ignoring the box of photographs and keepsakes. "Hey, Cordy, why don't you take a look at some of these other--"

She turned to look at him and let out a little scream, tripping inelegantly over herself and falling back onto the bed.

Angel swung around, looking for whatever had spooked her, expecting an intruder, expecting _something_ , but there was nothing else in the room. No threat. They were alone.

"Cordy, what...?" He reached out to her, pausing when he saw his hand. His vampire-sized hand. And his perspective had changed. He was looking down at her on the bed, not struggling to see over the furniture. "Heeyyy." He grinned broadly. "Hey, I'm me again!" He offered his hand to help her up, but she flinched away.

She grimaced when she saw the hurt in him, and hesitantly took his hand. "Sorry. Wasn't expecting the largeness of you. You loom."

He helped her to her feet, more disappointed than he could say at her reaction to him. "It's been known. Better than lurking though, right?"

"I guess." She pointedly withdrew her hand. "Hey, look. Four fingers again."

He looked at his hand and grinned helplessly at the sight. He spread his fingers then wiggled them happily.

"You still have a little work to do on that proportionate excitability thing, though."

Angel drew himself up a little straighter and tucked his hands away behind his back. "I'm good."

"So, anyway." She ran her hand over one of the boxes. "You still own this place?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't know why I kept it, really. I'm glad I did. It just... it still felt like home."

"How does a vampire purchase real estate in this day and age anyhow?"

"Well, Lilah, she... You wouldn't remember her. She was this lawyer, and she--"

She held up a hand. "Forget it. Evil lawyer. Crooked deal. I get it."

"You're a quick study."

"I learned a long time ago which business deals to pay attention to and which ones to zone out. It's all in the tone of voice."

"Your dad, right?"

"Yup. Good ol' dad. Substitutes money for love for the first seventeen years of my life, then when the money runs out... turns out there's nothing left to take its place."

"I'm sorry," Angel said, meaning it.

"Don't be. I don't even know why I brought it up. Although you probably already knew, right? The thought of you knowing stuff about me that I haven't even told you gives me major heebie jeebies."

"I know a few things," he said. "Things you trusted me with. Nothing you need to worry about me knowing. You're all good things, Cordy. You never let me down."

"Oh, please. It's obvious that I turned out a total wreck."

"That's not true. You're stronger than you know."

"You don't have to lie for me, Angel. It's pretty clear to me how things worked out. I ended up here, penniless and alone. I never went to college. I never made it as an actress. I nearly got eaten by vampires my first week in the city and it looks like things just went steadily downhill from there. I have no friends, and my parents... I haven't seen them in how long?" Cordelia nodded grimly at whatever it was she saw on his face. How was he supposed to tell her that he was pretty sure she hadn't been in contact with her parents the entire time she'd been living in L.A.? 

"That's what I thought," she said quietly.

"But you've been talking so much about finding them."

"Better the devil you know, right?"

"Cordy, I--"

"Don't sweat it. It's actually better this way. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, right? And I didn't even have to go through all the angsting. I just know how it worked out for me in the end. Simple. Stick a fork in me. I'm done."

"I'm here for you, you know. If you need me."

"That's sweet, but I'm not feeling the need for caring and sharing. Just going to bottle it all up, stick a cork in the bottle, throw the bottle in the ocean, throw a coupla rocks at the bottle, watch it sink. I hear that's how these things are done."

"That's not good for you. You know someone once told me..." Her haughty look stopped him in his tracks. It was just so _Cordelia_. So familiar. He was so sure that she was about to turn it around on him and remind him that he was the king of keeping his emotions inside until the pressure built up and up and up until they exploded and splattered huge chunks of catastrophe all around. Then she'd make him smile. She'd make him feel better. And he'd feel warmed by her just knowing that she cared. Because that was what Cordy did. That was who she was.

"I got it, Angel. Thanks."

That was who she had been.

"Right. You're right. I'm sorry. It's just really hard to know where to draw the line with you these days." He hung his head. "You know I just want to help you."

She sighed. "I know. But the line's pretty clear to me."

"Right. I'll try and keep that in mind."

She turned her back, effectively dismissing him. "You do that."

"I'll just be, ah..." He backed out of the room, made it as far as the hallway, then tucked himself out of sight and sagged against the wall. This wasn't going at all according to plan. No matter what he did, it always seemed to be the wrong thing. He just couldn't figure out how to deal with this Cordelia. Sure, she was mostly the same as the young Cordelia he'd known in Sunnydale, but she'd put up walls upon walls upon walls. And there was too much else going on. His head was bursting with trying to hold it all together, trying to keep all his balls in the air. He could almost hear Spike's voice in his head, laughing at him.

"Angel?" Cordelia stuck her head out of the bedroom door and caught him mid-brood. "Hey, where'd you go?"

"I was just--"

"We can do that shopping thing now you're back to normal, right?"

"Sure." He pushed himself off the wall. "Sure we can. I want to check in with the office and we can go."

"So how far does this expense account thing go, anyway?

"Sky's the limit."

She went very still. "So we could go pretty much anywhere?"

"You name it."

"You don't mean..." There was a brief, reverent silence. "Rodeo?"

"Anywhere you want."

"Marry me," she said instantly.

He managed a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've cheered up."

"Yeah, you're taking me shopping, duh. On _Rodeo_. I take retail therapy to a whole new level."

"Yeah," he murmured. "I remember."

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's just go, huh?"

Cordelia flashed him an eager little grin and disappeared down the stairs. Angel stood for a moment, looking at his hands, flexing them, turning them over. No more stupid little three-fingered felt hands. He ran his tongue over his teeth. No more soft crappy little felt teeth. He had a sudden, pressing urge to check the contents of his underwear because no more little felt anything. 

It was possible, he supposed, that as bad as things were, they could be worse.

Across town in the Wolfram & Hart labs, Fred touched her fingertips to a purple crystal embedded in the sandstone of an ancient sarcophagus, setting in motion a chain of events to prove just how right Angel could be.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Angel episode 5.15 "A Hole in the World".

Cordelia stood still, small in the corner of Fred's sickroom, not talking, watching everything around her with wide eyes. Fred was sick -- not being threatened by some bad guy, seconds to go with the clock ticking, the cavalry on its way, about to flip everything on its head and win the day because the good guys always won, that's what they _did_ \-- but sick. Something insidious had crawled up inside her and made itself a home. She was lying there, swamped by the ugly pale blue sheets and looking every bit as bad as Willow had after the awfulness that was Angelus' rebirth in Sunnydale, minus one important difference: when Willow had been lying in her hospital bed, looking tired and grey and lank, she had been getting better with every passing minute. Fred was getting worse, and nobody seemed to know what to do about that.

Angel said, "Let's get crackin'," and everyone followed him: Lorne, Gunn and Spike, all stony-faced and full of purpose. Numbly she followed suit, not knowing what she could possibly do that would be any help at all. She watched Wesley linger a moment and say his own private goodbyes to Fred. She saw him kiss Fred's forehead, and she saw the world that passed between the two of them, realising just how foolish she'd been to harbour any kind of feelings for Wesley. Wesley was far from being the same person she'd known in Sunnydale. This man, who was strong and devoted and unbending, she barely knew him. 

How long had it been into their friendship the first time when they'd realised that their mutual crush would never be more than just that, she wondered. And had anyone ever looked at her quite the way Wesley was gazing at Fred?

Angel and Spike stood on either side of Cordelia by the door, waiting for Wesley. They all saw Wesley kiss Fred goodbye.

"Wes and Fred?" asked Angel.

"You didn't know?" Spike asked, surprised.

"I didn't know," Angel admitted.

"Me neither," Cordelia said. "How could I not know?"

She felt a comforting hand rest briefly on her shoulder, but she couldn't be sure which of the vampires had touched her.

Wesley joined them in the doorway. "Shall we go?" he asked, any of the hurt he was feeling locked off in some private, disconnected part of himself, and strode off down the hallway without waiting for an answer.

"You heard the man," Spike said, and gestured for Angel to take the lead.

Cordelia felt a bolt of panic at being left alone with nothing to do but wait. "Wait. Angel. What about--?"

"Jesus, Cordelia, not now. The shopping trip's off, okay?" He brushed past her and was gone.

Cordelia froze in place, fighting the sudden horrible urge to cry. "So not what I was going to ask," she said in a small voice.

Spike ducked down a little to look her in the eye. "Don't take it to heart, princess. He's got sawdust for brains. Hey, I tell you what. We get in any fights in the near future, first chance I get I'll skewer him with something nice and sharp just for you. I'm really good at making it look like an accident. At the very least a good solid kick in the family jewels. How about that?"

She gave a little shrug. "I guess that would be good."

"There's my girl. And, hey, it's on the house." 

She gave him a grateful smile, watery but heartfelt, glad that he hadn't just left her standing there, alone and shaken. "Where are you going?"

Spike smiled grimly. "Anywhere but here," he said, sounding cryptic as hell and she didn't have the first clue what about. He gave hand a little squeeze and followed after the others.

Cordelia turned back to the doorway of Fred's room and stood there feeling useless. Fred looked so small and pale, twitching uncomfortably. She coughed suddenly, a series of wrenching jerks. When she opened her eyes and saw Cordelia standing there, Fred smiled for her and beckoned her back into the room. Cordelia pasted on a smile and went back to Fred's bedside.

"So you and Wes are an item now?"

Fred nodded and her smile, though weak, lit up her face. "I guess it's been in the works for a while now."

"You know," Cordelia said, like they were just a couple of girls sharing secrets, and _swearing_ to herself that she wouldn't start crying. "I used to have quite the crush on Wesley."

Fred's smile picked up a little. "He might have mentioned that. It's okay. He's totally crush-worthy." Her smile faded. "I love him, you know? I love him like..." She frowned, searching her memory. "... pancakes."

Cordelia took her hand and held on tight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Angel episode 5.16 "Shells".

The thrill of flying in the Wolfram & Hart jet up above the clouds where the sun always shone had dulled. All that was left was a joyless, empty expanse of air; every passing second a second longer that they were away from home, that they were away from their friends and, more importantly, that they were away from Fred and the evil that had taken her from them. Their trip had been a total and complete waste of their time, utterly pointless because there was nothing that could be done to save her. 

"Gone. What does it mean that she's gone?" Angel asked.

Spike looked up, weary of trying to make the little bottles of booze in the minibar grow using only the power of his mind. "Well," he considered, "in the world of men, a person dies, they stay that way."

"Unless you're a vampire."

Spike didn't much like where this was going, but he couldn't deny the small part of him that didn't mind being led there. "Or the ghost of one that saved the world," he said, because you had to get your digs in when you could.

"Or Buffy. Death doesn't have to be the end. Not in our world. Rules can be broken. All you have to do is push hard enough."

"Or Cordelia," Spike murmured.

"What?"

Spike looked up. "Or Cordelia. You didn't mention her."

"Cordelia didn't die."

"No? So colour me curious. What did she do exactly?"

"Have you been asleep for all of this?" Angel snapped.

"I _mean_ , you were there when it -- whatever _it_ was -- happened. One minute she's herself, right? Next minute she's lost a couple of years down the back of the settee. Now that strikes me as a mite odd. So what was it? Did she die and get brought back? Did somebody roll back the clock just for a bit of a jape? Do you think this was done to her, or do you think that she chose this? You never did get around to finding out what happened to her."

"Why all the questions? Why now?"

"Man's got a right to be curious, doesn't he? I mean, you've been fooled before."

"Don't even-- It's Cordelia. It's just... it's her. I know it."

"Forgive me if I want something a bit more concrete than just your say so."

Angel tightened his jaw. "She just changed. She was in my arms, and I thought she was... But she just changed. This was done to her. She would never have chosen this. She wouldn't have wanted to lose who she was."

"No?"

"No."

"You sound so sure."

"Because I am. She... she would have wanted to stay with me."

"Angel... You know you can't turn back death."

"Shut up. Just shut your mouth."

"There are some things you just can't change. You know all too well how that ends." Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Spike held up a hand. "No, now, let me say my piece. There's always a price, and it's always too high, no matter how tempting, no matter how bloody much we want to make it right. I want Fred back as much as you do. But if she's dead, if this Illyria really killed her... Nothing we can do will save her. Dead is dead."

"We're dead."

"And look how happy that's made us. Either we're soulless killing machines, glutting ourselves on blood and torture and death, or we're miserable, guilt-ridden do-gooders."

"I like doing good."

"Likewise."

"And all the misery and guilt, it's just--"

"Par for the course?"

"What's your point?" Angel asked, rubbing at his temples.

"My point? My point is..." Spike sighed heavily. "I don't know why they don't stock the bigger bottles of booze and stop teasing us with these minis. It's not like we can't afford it. It's depressing."

"Oh, that's right. Focus on the important things."

Spike held up a little bottle of Jack Daniels. "You want one?"

Angel held out his hand. "Better make it two."

 

\---

 

Cordelia was trying to find a coffee machine, any coffee machine. It was nearing twenty-four hours since she'd woken beside Fred's hospital bed only to find Fred missing, and Cordelia had been cooling her heels in the Wolfram & Hart offices ever since. She had been hiding out in Angel's office, locking herself in and trying to enjoy his entertainment system with the cool high-def TV, but not even E! could keep her attention. Her gaze kept sloping off and she'd find herself staring out the windows at the city below. 

Spike and Angel were back from England, according to the latest buzz in the office, courtesy of the administration department. She'd also heard several ominous crashes from deep within the building, and caught the news from the girls (and guy and Racktang demon) in the typing pool that someone or something had thrown Angel out of a tenth storey window.

She wasn't thinking about it. Angel would be fine. Angel was always fine. The guy had made it through hell, right? He got beaten up all the time by all manner of supernatural creatures. So kissing the pavement: not such a big deal.

But the fact remained that there was something roaming the building, something that had very probably done something truly awful to Fred, so why Cordelia wasn't just high-tailing it out of there, she wasn't entirely sure. Instead she was ready to lie down on the expensive carpet and have herself a little siesta. Hence the enforced march towards wherever the hell it was that they were hiding all the caffeine, because the last thing she wanted was to be caught snoozing when that something came calling. 

It was so typical. The super-powered people were supposed to make sure that she was protected, but then again, wherever they were, she would lay really good odds that that was where the trouble was, so for the time being she was happy just hiding out by herself... in Wolfram & Hart: the epicentre of evil in the greater Los Angeles area and possibly most of the Northern Hemisphere, hellmouths notwithstanding. She swallowed and grimly added it to the list of Things Not to Think About, focusing instead on just getting to that coffee machine. This was easier said than done because all the hallways looked exactly the same. She wasn't even sure she was on the right floor because the door she'd thought would be a staff lounge turned out to be a janitor's closet. 

It was all starting to give her one hell of a tension headache. Nobody was picking up their cells and nobody was in their offices. Nobody had come looking for her. She wanted to stay vigilant. Just in case. And that required caffeine. What she really wanted was for Fred to be okay, and for all the other associated madness (madness that was all _totally_ Angel's fault) to be over and done with. She wanted for everybody to get back to the important things, like fixing the tattered ruins of her life, but she knew from hard-earned experience that there was no use in wishing. If wishes were horses she could--

"What did you do, Charles?"

She paused outside the doctor's office, the cold steel of Wesley's voice stopping her dead.

"It was just a piece of paper," she heard Gunn say softly, like a confession. "I was losing it. Everything they put in my head, everything that made me different, special. And he could fix it, make it permanent."

Cordelia pressed herself against the wall, hoping that the shadows gave her enough cover. Whatever this was, it sounded juicy. It also sounded rather like impending doom, but definitely juicy. Never let it be said that Cordelia Chase was above a little eavesdropping to find out what was going on.

"So I signed a piece of paper," Gunn said. "It was a Customs release form. I didn't think anyone would get hurt."

"Nothing from Wolfram & Hart is ever free. You knew that," was Wesley's harsh reply. 

Cordelia peeped around the doorframe in time to see Gunn turn away, tears running down his face. 

Then she saw it. Wesley had a gun -- a _gun_ \-- and he was pointing it directly at Gunn. In another universe, Cordelia might have found something about that funny, but in this one, there was only a sudden horrible lurch of terror.

Gunn raised his head and looked Wesley in the eyes, trying to be strong in the face of Wesley's unflinching assault and his own obvious, terrible guilt. "I couldn't go back to being just the muscle. I-I didn't think it would be one of us. I didn't think it would be Fred."

Wesley walked slowly forward. "I understand not wanting to go back," he said, and his tone, so clipped and exacting, sent chills down Cordelia's spine. "Not wanting to be who we were. I understand it. And I can forgive it." He set the gun down on a table covered with medical instruments. "But you knew what was happening to her. You knew who was responsible and you didn't say anything. You let her die." Wesley's hand hovered over the table, then closed over a scalpel. "I'm less forgiving about that."

The world was thrust suddenly into fast forward, and before she knew it, Cordelia had propelled herself into the room. Someone screamed "No!" and it took her a second to realise it was her own voice. Wondering if her tenacity was about to get her killed, wondering if Wesley really had it in him to do something like this, Cordelia put herself between the two men.

"Wesley, what the hell?"

"Cordelia," he said, his demeanour freakishly calm. "I think you should leave."

"What are you? Crazy? I'm just going to walk away so you can _stab_ somebody?"

"Look at him, Cordelia," Wesley said, gesturing with the scalpel. "Take a good look. He has it coming, and he knows he deserves it."

"Bull. He may be guilty as hell, sure, but that's no reason to _stab him with a frickin' scalpel_."

"Cordy," Gunn said, horribly uncomplaining, all quiet acceptance and big, scared cow eyes. "Fred's... she..." He swallowed. "She died."

"No." Cordelia shook her head, her gaze flicking to Wesley, who sneered his barely contained rage, and back again. "But she was just... I mean I hardly even got to... I just saw her a couple of hours ago. God." She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. "How long has it been?"

"Something took her," Gunn said. "Something... We don't know exactly what." He just trailed off, shaking his head like he couldn't even begin to climb out of this pit of despair, like he didn't deserve to.

"Go now, Cordelia," Wesley said. "Or I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"Did I really put up with this kind of crap from you here?" she asked with tears burning in her eyes. "What happened to you, Wesley? Did all that British reserve leak out your ears the minute Fred died?"

Wesley's demeanour cracked. "Don't you say that! Don't you dare. Fred isn't--!" He stopped himself, spittle hanging from his lip, hysteria sparkling in his eyes. "Gunn did this. His foolishness allowed this to happen. It's because of him that Fred is... That's she's..."

"Wesley, what you're doing isn't right. You don't need me to tell you that."

"Cordelia, get out of here."

Slowly, Cordelia shook her head, not taking her eyes off Wesley. Her body trembled as she suffered an intense desire to turn heel and run like hell when Wesley _howled_ with rage and spun away from her, stabbing the blade into the desktop behind him.

There was an ominous quiet in the room, the only sound their mingled, ragged breaths as they waited to see what Wesley would do next.

"Cordelia," he said slowly, his body hunched over, knuckles white as he gripped the desk. "Get out of here. Now."

Cordelia shivered at the cold malice in his words, but lifted her chin, prepared to take a stand. She jumped when someone touched her arm, but it was just Gunn, looking at her in a way that terrified her and broke her heart in equal measure.

"Go on," he said, nodding slowly. "Go on. It's okay."

"No. It's not okay," she said. "None of this is okay. I can't just pretend like people aren't going completely insane all around me. I mean what completely frickin' bizarro world did I wake up in, anyway?"

"Cordy," Gunn said. "It's okay."

She wanted to protest. She wanted to stamp her foot and have her way. She wanted to run far, far away from this room and whatever the hell the deal was with new Crazy Wes and with Gunn, who was scaring her just as much because the tears were just pouring down his face and he didn't seem to care at all that Wesley, his good friend Wesley, had just been seconds away from stabbing him.

Absolutely certain she was doing the wrong thing, Cordelia turned and walked away. 

In the office behind her, she heard the grunts and slaps of a vicious fist fight, and she panicked, launching herself into a sprint without the slightest idea where she was headed.

She realised she was running across the lobby towards _out_ and _away_ when a familiar voice broke into her thoughts. She skidded to a stop inches away from Harmony and, because her heels really weren't designed for running in, she only just managed to keep her feet.

"Where's the fire?" Harmony asked.

"Pretty much everywhere," Cordelia said, regaining her equilibrium. "You rang?"

"I sure did." Harmony held up a piece of folded paper between two fingers. "Don't say I don't deliver."

"What is it?" Cordelia asked, taking the paper and hoping like hell Harmony didn't ask why her hand was shaking.

"Xander Harris' cell number. It wasn't easy. He's in, like, Swaziland or something. Getting a connection is going to be a bitch."

An engulfing wave of _familiar_ and _home_ washed over her. She could talk to Xander, ask his advice, pour out her troubles and Xander would listen. Xander owed her.

"You're the best," Cordelia said, already halfway out of the lobby.

Harmony waved her hand. "Oh, p'shaw." She straightened her skirt, admiring the line of her thighs beneath the material and picked off a non-existent speck of lint. "I am pretty good," she said with a little smile, and went back to work.


	11. Chapter 11

Xander Harris was an ass. No two ways about it. He was a total and complete ass. 

Cordelia paced her room in the Hyperion. She was twisting a bedraggled teddy bear in her hands and was trying not to give in to the temptation to start throwing things. 

"Sorry about your situation, Cordy," she ranted. "Sorry your life is falling apart, Cordy. Sorry I can't be any more of a completely useless waste of space, _Cordy_."

She threw the teddy bear across the room with a cry of frustration and immediately felt guilty because it really wasn't the teddy bear's fault. She'd been so relieved to hear a friendly voice, a voice of reason, of understanding, a voice attached to a person who actually _got_ it when she made fun of him as part of normal, everyday conversation and managed to make fun right back without breaking his stride. A person who might be able to get in contact with Giles and get him to research because Giles always got answers while it was plain to see that nobody in Cordelia's immediate vicinity had the first clue about what they were doing.

But all too soon the teasing had gone out of his voice and Xander had informed her, in no uncertain terms, that anyone who was with Angel was on the outside. Angel couldn't be trusted and no, it didn't matter what Cordelia said to the contrary, the die had been cast. No more affiliation with Team Slayer, no more united front against the powers of darkness, and that was that. Angel was cut off. So Cordelia, by association, was also ostracised. That was just the way the supernatural cookie crumbled. Very sorry to hear about the very inconvenient loss of several years of your life due to unknown mystical influences and subsequent relocation to the craziest evil law firm in the world... but them's the breaks.

Xander _owed_ her, didn't he realise that? He might have had the luxury of time to let what had happened between them become water under the bridge, but Cordelia hadn't. Not by a long shot.

So, yes, Xander Harris was an _ass_.

She was completely in the dark. Ominous things were happening all around her, and she'd just been _abandoned_ , which in a town like this was not only rude, it was downright dangerous. Clearly the whole 'not throwing things' plan was a stupid, stupid idea, so she picked up the nearest thing to hand -- one of her fabulous new Jimmy Choo shoes from the current fall line -- and threw it with all her might at her bedroom door, just in time for Spike to open the door, widen his eyes, and duck out of the way to let the shoe hit Angel on the forehead with a loud _thwok_ and bounce off.

"Oh," she snapped, hands on her hips, "you're finally here. Don't any of you people answer your phones when they ring?"

"Been a little busy this evening, Cordelia," Angel said. He rubbed his forehead and glared at Spike who grinned cheerfully at him.

"Too busy to let me know what the hell was going on? You are aware that Wesley's gone completely psycho-boy, right? And Gunn's falling apart. Wesley's probably still beating the crap out of him as we speak. I was just left there, in your stupid, _stupid_ law firm without the first clue about what's happening. Fred just vanished and I didn't know what had happened to her and Gunn says that she's... He says that she's..." 

Angel and Spike exchanged a look that told her everything she needed to know. 

"Oh god." She reached blindly for the chair behind her and sat down heavily. "Oh god, it's true? It's really true? Fred's... she's dead?" Her lip trembled as she tried to hold back the tears. "I'm so sorry." She looked at them a little desperately, the fact that neither vampire was talking only making things worse. "What happened?"

"We couldn't save the day, luv," Spike said quietly. "Not this day. Stalemate. We had to let her go."

"Let her go? Let her go where?"

"Delia, she died, but--"

"But? How can there be a but? But what?"

"Her body. It's..." Spike glanced at Angel. "Something's using her body. That's what the big brouhaha was in Wolfram & Hart earlier. Some ancient god-king, name of Illyria. It's using Fred's body."

"So you killed it, right?" she said, looking back and forth between them. " _Right_?"

"Well..." Angel said.

"Yeah, we, ah..." Spike said.

"We don't really know what to do with her," Angel said. "Wesley's looking into it."

"I heard you got thrown out a window," Cordelia said, not exactly buoyed by their response.

Angel shifted his weight. "Yeah."

"Huh. Sucks to be you." She looked over his dishevelled appearance, his torn clothes and the bruises on his face. "So why are you here? Why aren't you finding this thing and kicking its ass back to wherever it came from?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you're okay."

"Peachy," she said. "Big yay for skewed priorities and crappy timing. What's the plan?"

Angel watched her carefully. "Wesley's looking into it."

"You said that part already."

"It's still true."

"So you just left him alone to cope with this, while his heart's breaking and he's having some kind of psychotic breakdown. That's your big plan?"

For a moment it looked like Angel was gearing up for an argument, but he seemed to think better of it and the fight went out of him. "That's the best we have right now. I mean I don't know what else to do until..."

"Until?"

"Until Wesley gets back to me with a best course of action."

"And what's to stop this Aladdin--"

"Illyria."

"--Illyria from just going on a super-mega killing spree?"

"She's weakened. Her armies are dust. She's alone. Wesley says that she's asked for guidance."

"Guidance?"

"She doesn't know this world. She wants to learn."

Cordelia shook her head. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "So you're teaching the murderous god-king how to play nice? This is all just so nuts."

"Yeah. Little bit," Angel said softly, in complete agreement. "I have to get back to the office. Spike's going to stay here with you." He was already halfway out the door before his words sunk in. "You need anything, call me." 

Unable to believe that Angel had just dismissed her and was calmly walking out the door without a by your leave, anything Cordelia wanted to say -- and there was a lot of it -- stuck in her throat as she worked herself up to an impressive level of apoplectic rage. Deprived of her main target, she turned on Spike. Wisely, he backed off a few paces, palms held up in surrender. 

"Anything you're about to squawk, pet, believe me, I already know. There's a training dummy downstairs in the cage room if you want to release a little of that pent up frustration. We could go beat it with sticks if you like."

Cordelia took several deep breaths, trying to rein in on her temper. "There's an actual cage room?"

"Apparently so. The modern man's dungeon, or so I'm told."

"There's something so very wrong with the fact that I'm not even a little surprised at that," she said. "Well, come on!" she snapped when Spike dared to just stand there and not interpret her pointed glare correctly after approximately half a second. "Let's go beat the crap out of the dummy already."

"Ladies first," Spike said, and let her lead the way.

 

\---

 

The dream tears at him, fusing with his reality, until he can't remember which parts are his own warped fantasy and which parts have their grounding in his waking life. He can't remember if he has a soul. Is the soul the twisted creation, or is he? Is this still that hellish basement he crawled around in in Sunnydale, or has he escaped that torment, only to rediscover it anew?

His hands are red with blood. Blood from torture. Not an innocent's blood, true, but a human's. A weak man's. What is the point of the soul, what is the message, where is the spark, if he ignores it only to serve his own ends? 

If Angel is prepared to lead them into battle, but isn't strong enough to stand tall and unwavering and be the White Knight he's spent so many years fooling them all into believing that he is, what is the point of any of it? If Angel can ask Spike to do a thing like this? What is the good in following him into that dark abyss?

The blood on Spike's hands stains his clothes, slicks his skin, catches in the corners of his mouth, dirties his hair. The floor is tacky with it under his boots as he walks slowly around the man, the Wolfram & Hart doctor -- _that bastard, condemned little Fred, just doing his job, working for the man, bringing home his pay, selling his soul for a paycheque and the promise of a better life and a postponed death_ \-- tied to the chair with packing tape from one of the offices, weeping and pleading for Spike to stop. 

But Spike has a mission, doesn't the doc know that? 

Spike never did like doctors. They weren't much good when he'd been alive. Gave him no hope for his mother. Hadn't been able to do a damn thing for Drusilla. Couldn't save Joyce. Had a nasty habit of turning out to be followers of Glorificus and pitching fellows off towers. Not much good to be said for doctors, one way or the other. 

This doctor has been screaming. Screaming for mercy. Bleeding all over Spike. Staining his hands. Out damn spot. All for Fred. All for Angel. All for Spike's tainted soul.

He has his name now. _Vahla ha'nesh_. But he knew that already. Out in the real world this has already happened. Illyria's armies turned to dust by the passing of millions of years. Fred is gone. Too late. They're all too late. And this is just a dream.

But Spike is still in this room, torturing the doctor because it needs to be done, cutting slices, tearing flesh, striking terror into the heart of mortal man. Blood flowing sluggishly now. Spike can almost taste it. He can almost taste the past. Can remember what he once was, when all this was free and easy. 

This could make him what he once was if it doesn't stop.

If the doctor doesn't stop screaming. He won't stop screaming. He's screaming Spike's name.

 

\---

 

Spike sat bolt upright as he woke, sucking in a great lungful of air. Cordelia was already retreating, worming her way out of the tight grasp he had on her upper arms, scooting back off the edge of the couch as soon as he let go of her. 

"What was that all about?"

"That? Nothing, luv. It was just--"

"Spike. No bull. I want the truth."

"The truth?" he said with a humourless little laugh. "You can't handle... No, sorry, I can't even try and make that sound convincing. But the sentiment is spot on."

"Try me," she said. "The truth, not the line."

"Right." He took a breath and held it before letting it out. "There's this Wolfram & Hart doctor. He was mixed up in what happened to Fred. We needed info and we were running out of time. So I..." He dropped his chin to his chest. "Someone had to torture it out of him."

"And you pulled the short straw?"

"I pulled the only straw."

"Oh. And now you're getting the guilt dreams."

"Pretty much."

"Okay. I think I'll leave you to it."

"What, that's it? No lectures? No words of wisdom? The end never justifies the means? Nothing? Not even a tired old 'a vamp's gotta do what a vamp's gotta do'?"

"You don't need it. This world..." She shook her head. "I can't even begin to figure it out. I mean things were screwy in Sunnydale, but they made a weird kind of sense, y'know? I knew the hierarchy. I knew which end was up. Here? Things are so messed up here I just... I just can't."

"But you're still here."

"Yeah. Still here. Doing the best I can. Same as you."

"Don't know about that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I, ah..." He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I'm thinking of moving on."

" _Now_? You want out _now_?"

"Thinkin' 'bout it. Angel doesn't want me here and I could stand never to have to lay eyes on that ponce again either."

"Does he know you're abandoning us?"

"Abandon's a pretty strong... Yeah. We discussed it."

"And?"

"There was a whole lot of 'this town ain't big enough for the both of us' talk."

"Colour me surprised."

"He called me a pain in the ass. I said he should know: he's got himself a pretty big ass. That was when he thumped me off the wall."

"You two belong in kindergarten."

"Me and Angel? P'shaw. We're like this," Spike said, holding up his crossed fingers.

"You're really leaving? You really want out?"

For the first time, Spike thought about it. _Really_ thought about it. Sure he could do some good out in the world. A vampire like him? He could do his own thing, but should he? Was there any point in trying? This was where the fight was and he knew it. 

"I guess I could stick around," he said, and while Cordelia didn't exactly jump for joy at the news or start weeping in gratitude, he didn't miss the way her eyes softened and she gave a little nod. "It's in your best interests, isn't it?" Spike continued, because he was many things, but knowing when he was well off wasn't one of them. "Somebody's got to keep an eye on you."

Cordelia drew herself up and pushed back her shoulders. "I am pretty high maintenance," she said, quite seriously.

Spike smiled. "You can say that again, princess."


	12. Chapter 12

Always on the outside looking in, Cordelia watched the world go by. She stood in the middle of the maddening crowd, everyone passing her by, lawyers looking down their noses, supposed friends busy with their own purposes and their own agendas. Not exactly in the loop, her information was always second-hand and sometimes days old. 

She visited Gunn in his office once, not entirely sure why. She found him sitting alone at his desk, his phone ringing off the hook, his eyes red and his hands clenched around some contract he was staring at but not reading. She tried for a little cheerful conversation but got no response and wound up stalled somewhere between strained and awkward, neither of them mentioning the giant mutant elephant in the room. She tried to get him to go home. This was enough to draw him out of his stupor a little, but he refused, telling her there was too much work to be done, so she stayed with him and talked one-sided nonsense until he eventually nodded off right where he was sitting. She stayed while he slept, glad of the company, but glad too of the silence. She watched him in his unhappy dreams. She didn't know what she could say to him that would make much of a difference. She didn't really even know _him_ , though it was obvious that he knew her. It was all in the way his eyes softened when he looked at her. Seeing how Gunn was in a pretty hard place right now, that meant something. But she didn't know him enough. It was like something incredibly important was just out of her reach.

Her first meeting with Illyria was a memorable one, to say the least, seeing as how she rounded a corner like a thousand others in the Wolfram & Hart building and came face to face with Fred. Cordelia let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead and dropped her steaming coffee to the floor where it splashed over her shoes and soaked one leg of her pants.

She hissed and hopped on one foot, trying to pull the scorching material away from her skin. "Fred? They said you were-- God, you scared me half to-- Hey, what's with the skeezy goth vibe?"

Illyria didn't bothered with pesky things like introductions or personal bubbles. She simply pinned Cordelia to the wall with one hand, examining her with a lack of propriety that Cordelia would have taken issue with if it hadn't of been for that whole 'pinned to the wall by her throat' thing. Scrabbling uselessly at Illyria's immovable grasp, Cordelia choked out the first name that came to mind.

" _Angel_."

Illyria moved in close, questions in her gaze, and Cordelia found herself trapped in those unblinking blue eyes.

"You are missing parts," Illyria announced. "You are not of this time and place."

Unable to speak, Cordelia tried to plead with her eyes, tried to show whatever it was that this tiny monster wanted to see.

"Merely human, but you are touched by a higher power." Illyria leaned in even closer, moving her head around Cordelia's, making Cordelia feel like a bug under a microscope. "You have altered time. Tell me how you have achieved this."

"Illyria!" Wesley's voice. Thank god, thank god, it was Wesley. And Angel was there too. But there was no punching and kicking and hacking Illyria to bits with their big manly swords. There was only Angel radiating tension and Wesley making with the strangely compelling authority-face.

"Illyria, let her go this instant," Wesley said.

"You presume to instruct me? You dare?"

"Yes, I dare. Now let her go."

"I wish to know how she has come to be here. I wish to know how it was achieved, what she gave in return for such an expenditure of energy and power. I wish to--"

"I'll tell you everything we know, but you must release her at once."

Illyria released her -- the minimum of movement, simply opening her hand and turning to face her accusers -- and Cordelia dropped to the floor, gasping in a huge lungful of air that immediately reduced her to coughing, her abused throat burning.

"Cordy?" Angel's voice, low and concerned. He touched her, his big hand cool on her skin, brushing her hair out of her face. "Cordelia, are you okay?"

For once she didn't shrug him off, just nodded and took solace in his gentle strength.

"Fine," she croaked, and glared at Illyria through a sheen of angry tears.

Illyria paid her no attention. She wore no shame at her actions, no fear of reprisal.

"What were you thinking?" Wesley asked Illyria sharply.

"This one is merely a child, as you are all children, but she has walked in other worlds. She is missing parts, important components, things that should not be gone." Illyria narrowed her eyes, a tiny sliver of movement, the greatest display of emotion she'd shown since Cordelia had first laid eyes on her, and that in itself was enough to send a chill down Cordelia's spine. "Like the shell."

There was a lot going on that Cordelia couldn't begin to understand, a lot written on Wesley's face that was too painful to look at. The way he looked like he'd been punched in the gut every time Illyria called Fred's body a shell like she was some empty husk, good only to house Illyria's all-consuming presence. Cordelia wondered if it wasn't Wesley who was a shell now.

"How could you know that?" Wesley asked, his voice small and tight.

"Would you question your own god's knowledge as readily? I see it because I see the layers of this world you cannot even perceive. I see it because I wish it to be so."

"Then perhaps next time," Wesley said, low and a little scary, "you might perceive Cordelia's layers from afar, without strangling her half to death while you do it."

Illyria's gaze slid to where Cordelia was still curled on the floor, Angel at her side. "My interest wanes," she announced. "The child is insignificant."

"Hey!" Cordelia rasped out, but Illyria was already striding away. "I'm plenty significant. Bitch."

Angel tried to pet her some more, but this time Cordelia batted his hands away. She didn't need more sympathy or the kid gloves treatment. If people kept trying to be nice to her, the tears were going to start again and she just wasn't sure she'd ever get them to stop. This being attacked by random enemies -- enemies, long lost family members, acquaintances, reanimated corpses, whatever -- of Angel's thing was getting really old, really fast. Angel's face shuttered at her dismissal, his concern blanking out into something else, and she almost welcomed it. Angel's attention was a lot to deal with when he focused it all on her. He'd always found it so easy to ignore her when they were still in Sunnydale. It was funny: she'd been trying to get his attention for days, weeks maybe, and as soon as she had it, his hands gentle on her skin, those big, brown, stupidly soulful eyes looking only at her, it was too much.

It was better at the Hyperion. Angel only came there occasionally. She couldn't even really call his appearances visits. It was more like he was checking up on her, doing his duty or being chivalrous or something equally antiquated and lame.

Spike, on the other hand, had moved in, actually _moved in_ to the Hyperion without even asking her first. He'd just showed up with a duffle bag over his shoulder, a cigarette clamped between his teeth and that same old swagger in his step.

"What are you supposed to be? My bodyguard?"

"Well," he said, considering. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"Do I look like Whitney Houston?"

Spike eyed her, squinting through the smoke. "No. You're white and you're not on crack and you sing like a cats' chorus."

He picked a room, slammed the door, and that was that. Cordelia had herself a new vampire housemate. 

Then she googled Whitney Houston and spent a little while being completely appalled. 

The news continued to trickle in, a little faster now that Spike was around. She heard that Angel and Spike had been fighting the good fight, except nobody really knew what the good fight was these days. The two vampires had been to another dimension like it was a walk in the park, something to do with rescuing an evil guy called Lindsey, which was funny because who'd have figured that there was someone who actually had a girlier name than Angel? 

Gunn had sacrificed himself, actually _sacrificed_ himself to a hell dimension and nobody was doing anything about it. 

Cordelia was back to feeling lost and useless, not that she'd managed to make much progress on that front. All day every day her entire being was telling her to leave, to get out while she still could. She didn't owe anybody here a damn thing, she wasn't any use anyway, plus she didn't have a whole lot of faith in how the battles were being fought... but still she stayed. Just stuffed it all down in a little box in her head, sat on the lid and locked it up tight. This was where she'd made her life and there had to have been some good reason for that, right? Cordelia may have been out of the loop on pretty much everything, but she knew her own mind. At least, she was pretty sure she did, reasoning that she wouldn't have stuck around here for anything less than a stellar reason first time around.

Besides, who else was going to understand what had happened to her and might one day maybe eventually get around to fixing it?

Most of the time she did her own thing, being politely, or not so politely, ignored, only hearing what was happening after the event. These people had screwed her life up, they should have at least been a little freer and easier with the intel, but _no_ , not Angel and his cronies. Cordelia was left standing still while the world was shifting around her, cruel things happening to good people, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She didn't even understand most of it. She kept thinking of Buffy. What would Buffy do? What would happen if she called Buffy up and said, "Hey, Slaygirl. World might be ending. Y'know... again. Ancient demon gods walkin' around in stolen bodies. New Big Bad arising and nobody knows a damn thing about it. Oh, and also? Looks like Angel's taking a walk on the dark side, which is _always_ good news. So where the hell are you these days? Go ahead and get Giles on the line, we'll conference call."

But she didn't. Signs were pointing to her being nothing but young and ineffectual, and she felt it acutely, like she never would have believed only a few short weeks ago. Sure, Sunnydale had been pretty much a suckfest a high percentage of the time, but it had almost been time for graduation, and while Cordelia had suffered a major tectonic shift in the popularity stakes, she still knew the rules of the game. There was a sense of adventure in the air. The possibility of escape loomed large. They'd done it: they'd made it through high school. They'd _survived_ , in every possible sense of the word.

Now she walked in the world of grown-up adults dealing with scary, complicated, supernatural, grown-up adult-type things. The light-hearted times she'd spent with Spike and Wesley were gone for good. Fred was dead, done, but her body was still walking around with Illyria wearing her like a badly tailored suit. 

Cordelia missed the old Harmony and the Cordettes. She even found herself missing Xander. He'd just bought her that beautiful dress that she'd never even got the chance to wear, or at least to remember wearing, and yeah, he was a lowdown, no good, two-timing, cheating cheater who had refused to help her when she was in the direst of straits, but who knew how things could have ended up. Back when life had been really simple. Back when she'd ruled the school and that was all there was to life. Simple. Easy. Fun. Back before Buffy had come to town and turned everything on its head. 

Stupid Buffy. If Cordelia could have one wish, just one little wish, it would be that Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale in the first place. Not that wishing would do Cordelia any good, because now here she was: out of Sunnydale, out of time, living under the same roof as a vampire, missing Xander, Buffy, Giles, even Willow. God, how she missed them. At least they treated her like one of them -- mostly. They looked out for her and took the time to explain things to her. Sometimes, when they were being smart, they even listened to her input. And while they were hugely irritating, totally dorky in the worst ways, and obviously got dressed in the dark most of the time, they were the ones who saved the world and protected the little guy, and that was something Cordelia could really get behind. It was something that humbled her more than she could say, not that she ever would. She knew them, she understood them, and it was usually her choice whether or not to get involved, although recently (the recently that she could remember of Sunnydale) non-involvement was becoming a thing of the past. 

Perhaps this really was what she was destined for: a life of insanity and magic. But if it was, she still had no idea of her place in it. How could she possibly have anything to do with what was happening here? Resurrected gods; Angel losing the plot and running an evil law firm; he and Spike arguing like they weren't working on the same team; Wesley with stubble that went way beyond designer and right into hobo territory, not to mention the overpowering whiskey breath.

She picked up one the newspapers Spike discarded all over the hotel and started looking at casting calls, circling ads, wondering if maybe she could afford an agent. What was the point in living in L.A. in the prime of her life, and not trying to make it as an actress? That would just be a waste of god-given talent and a killer body.

When Spike walked into the kitchen so late in the afternoon it was practically evening, sporting a rumpled bedhead and looking rather bleary, she pointed him in the direction of the coffeepot and tapped the end of her pen on the paper in front of her.

"I've been thinking about what you said."

"Cordelia," Spike said with a groan, setting his coffee to one side. "I told you already: I'm sorry I said they looked like beetles. I don't know shoes. I mean, you'd think I'd have picked it up over the years with Dru always banging on about them, but I just don't know enough to--"

Cordelia waved her hand. "Not that. I get that. You're not shoe-vamp. Over it already. I mean what you said about leaving."

"Oh. That."

"I've had it with this place. This whole place. I want to leave. I mean I really want to just go. I've got this urge, right here, all the time in the pit of my stomach. It never stops."

"Hungry?" he asked, trying to make light of it.

"No. I think it's homesickness."

"Homesickness? For Sunnydale? That's wrong on so many levels."

"I know: suburbia, crappy malls, mouth of hell, one single solitary small-ass Starbucks. But it's all I know."

"We've been through this, Delia. Sunnydale's gone."

"I _know_ that. I've seen pictures. I looked it up on Wikipedia and everything. Localised earthquake, Act of God, citation needed, buy a ribbon, yadda yadda. But it still feels like it's there, y'know? Like I'm like the only person it still hasn't registered with that it's not there anymore. Like if I just go there, it'll still be standing, just like always. I can see it if I close my eyes. I was only there a couple of weeks ago."

"Delia," Spike sighed. He went to her and took both her hands, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. "Seems to me like this place is your home. Has been for a long time."

Cordelia stared down at their joined hands. "But I--"

"Can't remember it. I get it. We'll get you a nice badge to wear, save you having to repeat yourself. Listen, you just have to give your life here time. You're young. You'll grow into it."

"It's not a freakin' training bra."

Spike tilted his head, suddenly very interested. "You're not still...?"

She looked up sharply and she pulled her hands away with a jerk. "No. God. No. Bad analogy. Forget I said anything."

He gave her a sly smile. "I'll give it my best shot, cutie, but I promise nothing."

"You _sure_ you have a soul?"

"Pretty sure. There was horrible, gut-wrenching pain and angst, then there was this whole 'insane in a basement' phase I went through."

"Huh. How did that work out for you?"

"Slim to middling."

It was weird seeing Spike around all the time. He seemed so much like his old self that sometimes just having him walk around made her stomach tie itself into nervous knots and prickles break out over her skin. The sensible part of her brain that recognised a predator when it saw one liked to remind her as often as possible that he was a dangerous animal and not to be trusted. But at the same time he was new and improved Spike who was still trying to get her to play poker with him in the evenings, muttering something about kittens under his breath; who couldn't quite figure out how to use the hotel's ancient laundry facilities for all those millions of towels he went through every week; who would yell her name all over the hotel when he was ordering pizza because he could never remember what toppings she liked.

He was here for her, to protect her should the need arise. The thought would tickle at her from time to time, when she least expected it. It was like her place in the hierarchy had changed. In the slaying scheme of things, Cordelia had been pretty much bottom of the heap in Sunnydale, guilty only by unwanted association. In L.A. it seemed that she was front and centre. Here she was somebody who warranted attention from the main players. 

How had she ever let herself get sucked into this world?

Shortly after Spike had moved into the hotel, she had been half-heartedly trying to get her room into some kind of order. She was wandering the hotel, looking for light bulbs and clothes hangers, and generally being nosey. She was wearing an old t-shirt and low-slung jeans, her hair tied up in a bandana, with a pair of fluffy socks on her feet. She crossed the lobby and stopped, captivated by the sight of Spike taking up space in what she'd been told was Angel's old office. He was sitting in Angel's chair, his feet up on the desk, chewing on the side of his thumb as he read a battered old novel. 

She'd never had a chance to watch him so closely before. It was fascinating to think that he was an actual demon. Just like Angel, but even safer somehow because there was no chance of Spikelus showing up if he got real happy all of a sudden. But at the same time, he was just Spike, just like she remembered from Sunnydale. A brutal killer, who had once terrified her, but now he was just... Spike. Like he was a guy. A weird, sometimes hard to understand just what the hell he was talking about, English, seventies throwback guy, but still just a guy.

He had glanced up and caught her staring. Cordelia had jumped and looked away, busying herself with going back to looking for her light bulbs and hangers. 

She hadn't seen it, but Spike had smiled and watched her for a while, his book lying forgotten in his lap.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Angel episode 5.19 "Time Bomb".

Several things were making themselves abundantly clear to Cordelia about her life here in L.A.:

Auditions sucked.

Casting directors sucked more.

Waiting around for hours in a skimpy bikini just to be told that she didn't have the right 'look' to sell new Crappybrand Cola sucked beyond the telling of it.

Having Angel burst into her room in the middle of the night, cold breath in her face, scary strong hands on her shoulders shaking her awake to ask if she suddenly remembered all those missing years...

That was just freaksome on a scale that Cordelia wasn't prepared to deal with.

"Why the hell would I suddenly remember at-- Jesus, Angel! Four in the morning on some random Tuesday? Seriously, are you on vampire crack?"

Angel's face crumpled. He let go of her and sat on the edge of her mattress, his face in his hands.

"Wesley," he said. "He broke the Orlon Window and I just thought... I just thought that maybe..."

"Wesley broke a window?" She sat up gingerly, reaching out before she'd even thought it through, but stopped just short of actually touching him. "Was it a really important window or something?"

He turned and looked at her and there was so much sadness written all over him that Cordelia sucked in a sharp breath because there was no way she could deal with this. She laid her hand on his shoulder then, the lightest of touches, and Angel closed his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice smaller than Cordelia could remember ever hearing it. "I shouldn't have come here. I didn't mean to scare you."

When he stood up, he didn't look like Angel, CEO of Wolfram & Hart, master and commander of all he surveyed. He looked like Angel, vampire with a soul, weight of the world on his shoulders. He got as far as the middle of her room and paused. 

"It's okay, Spike," he said. "I'm leaving now."

Spike stuck his head around the doorway, blond spikes sticking up in mad disarray all over his head. "Right you are then," he said, and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "Be on your merry way and we'll dispense with the fisticuffs."

With a last little glance at Cordelia, Angel shouldered out past Spike and was gone.

Spike gave Cordelia a sloppy little salute and was about to take his leave when he paused, eyeing her strangely. "What?"

"You really are my bodyguard."

"Shuddup," he said, and yawned. "S'all your fault I'm tryin' to keep to human hours. These early nights'll be the death of me." He waved his hand vaguely and wandered away.

"Already dead, Spike," she called after him.

She couldn't get back to sleep for the rest of the night. This gave her black circles under her eyes for her audition the next morning that not even Touche Eclat could cover up, and made her flustered enough that she forgot her single, stupid, simple line, and the whole thing was a big fat disaster.

For once she didn't try and make a big deal out of it. Of course, she hadn't told anyone that she was going for the audition in the first place, so there was no one to tell, no one to ask her how it went, no one to offer words of advice, bolster her flagging ego, offer a shoulder to cry on or give her chocolate. She could really go for some chocolate, something really indulgent and calorific. Hot chocolate would be perfect: extra cocoa, lots of sprinkles, and she could steal some of those little marshmallows Spike had hidden away in the kitchen that he thought she didn't know about.

Spike got it, though. Kind of. He didn't come right out and ask her what was wrong, but he took one look at her, morosely sitting at the kitchen table, empty mug in her hands, staring blankly at the wall and sighing expansively every few minutes, and he immediately offered to take her "down the pub". Cordelia realised how bad things had got, because for a second she actually considered accepting before shaking her head.

"Okay, then," Spike said. "How about you come to Wolfram & Hart with me. We're running tests."

"Tests? You? What kind of tests?"

"Yeah, me," he said, indignant. "I've been sparring with Illyria. Teaching her a thing or two, no doubt. We're trying to figure her out." He grinned. "She wants to keep me as a pet."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows as high as they could go.

"No, it's all official-like," Spike said earnestly. "I've got a clipboard and everything."

At a loss for anything else to do, Cordelia went. 

She followed a few steps behind Spike when they arrived at the Wolfram & Hart offices, lost in her own thoughts, half-heartedly trying to sketch out some kind of vague five-year plan in her head but not coming up with anything worthwhile. She'd already walked past a figure wearing a zipped up hooded sweatshirt before she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Gunn?"

If it was Gunn, he'd already turned a corner and disappeared. Cordelia dithered, considering going after him, just to be sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, but then she reconsidered. Wandering around Wolfram & Hart on her own only led to bad things, and a lot of times those bad things seemed to enjoy choking the life out of her, so instead she hurried to catch up with Spike. Spike was her bodyguard, after all. If Gunn was back, this was a good thing, right? Not being trapped in a hell dimension usually was, she supposed. 

Not exactly happy to be anywhere in the general vicinity of Illyria, Cordelia sat and watched as Spike threw himself bodily into their sparring session. It wasn't pretty. Spike hit the mat more times than she could count, but he always bounced right back up again, carelessly wiping away blood from a split lip or a bloodied eyebrow, bruises colouring what little she could see of his skin. He even seemed to be enjoying himself. 

And he did actually have a clipboard, the ginormous weirdo. 

They'd been there for maybe an hour, an hour and a half, and Cordelia was bored, filing her nails and daydreaming about getting a spicy latte, when Angel buzzed Spike on the intercom. Spike wiped blood from his lip, hopped to his feet, and dutifully disappeared into the observation room, shooting Cordelia a little grin on the way. 

Cordelia rose to her feet, suddenly horrified at the prospect of being left alone in the same room as Illyria, but Illyria didn't even spare Cordelia a glance, she just followed Spike out into the observation room.

That was right about the time when things started to get really weird, really fast.

It wasn't until later, always later, always waiting for news to trickle through, that anybody bothered explaining things to Cordelia about Illyria's little problem with phasing through time and space, bouncing around without control, contorted in agony, convinced that the humans she so disregarded were going to rise up and destroy her to save themselves. So it came as something of a surprise to Cordelia when Angel, Spike, Lorne and Wesley came barrelling into the training room. They didn't even seem to realise she was in the room with them, yelling about being unstuck in time, and Illyria's domain being gone, something about choosing paths and murder -- then Illyria stepped out of thin air and into existence, materialising right in front of them.

Angel shoved Spike out of the line of fire just before Illyria struck, staking Angel, actually _staking_ him, missing the heart, thank god, but still, in Cordelia's book, stakes and Angel were two things that really didn't need to be introduced to one another at high speeds. Punches were thrown and Wesley had a huge weird-looking gun thing and--

Everything was turning to crap. Even in her panicked state, Cordelia was painfully aware that that seemed to happen a lot around here.

She started inching out of the room, keeping her back to the wall, trying to make a quick and inconspicuous getaway, leaving the super-powered people to their dilemmas. She kept her eyes on Illyria as the god-king ranted about weakness and betrayal. Illyria collapsed in pain, and it was this more than anything that frightened Cordelia. Strange, really, seeing as Illyria was way, way down on the list of Cordelia's favourite people, but seeing her like this, weakened and furious and helpless, it just didn't seem right.

"I possess so much grace, more grace than this bag of sticks could express. I was the immaculate embodiment of rule," Illyria was spitting, her skin starting to fracture and crack, bright blue energy escaping her control over it, too much for her to hold on to. Illyria watched the light shoot out from her fingertips, then looked out past them, her gaze falling on Cordelia.

"You," she said, pointing right at Cordelia, freezing her to the spot. "You who are missing parts. You who has been touched by a higher power. Your strength could fuel me."

"What? Me? No, I don't have strength," Cordelia said, trying for credible but getting stalled somewhere around nervous. "I'm totally weak." She backed away a few paces, but she wasn't quick enough and Illyria caught her wrists, pulling her in close.

Cordelia was vaguely aware of raised voices behind her: Angel barking orders at Wesley, Wesley yelling about not being able to get a clear shot, and Spike just bellowing her name.

There was blistering heat from Illyria's hands and the world beyond the two of them slowed right down. It didn't make any sense, because everything was blue, cobalt blue, and things weren't moving right, and there was something... something tickling right at the edge of Cordelia's perception. Everything was slow and quiet. The blue light, dulled now, shimmering in the air, surrounding everything. Cordelia pulled away, Illyria letting her go easily, staring at her own hands in wonder, the cracks in her skin slowly mending, energy contained, her pain dissipating.

"This was not what I intended," Illyria said quietly, then glanced around the room, like she was seeing patterns in all the blue that only she could perceive. "How has this been achieved?"

Cordelia blinked, wondering at the light clinging to her hands and lying soft on her skin, trying to figure it out, because it was all trying to make a crazy sort of sense in her head. Illyria had done something, messed with time. Lines were all tangled and twisted, things happening when they shouldn't, when it wasn't their time. But it was hard, like the pieces didn't quite want to fall into place, so Cordelia took the easy way out and just shrugged expansively, backing away from what looked like genuine curiosity in Illyria's eyes. Cordelia drew up short when she collided with a wall behind her.

Blue faded and rippled over Illyria's skin, her eyes changing from blue to soft brown, a hint of Fred, barely more than a suggestion, and she sounded so young when she said, "Cordy?"

In that moment, it all fell into place. Cordelia remembered, and in remembering she knew that she shouldn't have been there at all.

She wanted to get away from Illyria, because there wasn't time, there was never enough time, and wasn't that just the biggest joke of all? She turned around to face the worried men behind her, her friends, who were moving and then not moving, everything slow and sluggish, like someone was hitting the pause button over and over.

The wall she'd backed into wasn't a wall at all. It was Angel. He was reaching for her, but everything was slow, so slow. She touched his face and it was like he suddenly fell into existence; someone hit the play button, and Angel was back in the world.

She looked right in his eyes and said his name like a question, and he _knew_. She could see it in him, the spark of sudden realisation. He could see that it was her, that it was his Cordelia, and that she remembered. She remembered it all.

"Angel, what's happening here? What is this?"

"I don't know. You've been..." He ghosted a trembling hand around her face, scared to touch, like it would break the spell. "You've been gone awhile," he whispered, chancing a smile, not wasting time with questions or hesitation. "I missed you. Missed you so much, Cordy, you have no idea."

She smiled, bright and alive and feeling like herself, and she _loved_ him. She knew he could see it. It was all right there. Then she faltered. There was so much she wanted to say, more than they had time for. 

"But... I've been here. Haven't I?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. You've been here all along. Do you remember?"

"I... yes. I remember everything. All of it."

"Cordy--"

She cut him off with a kiss.

Angel gasped into her mouth, opening up to her, and Cordelia took advantage of it. There was no time, no time, and no explanations she could offer. There was no way to make Angel understand, but she was here, and they were together. She only had moments, because what Illyria had done to her, however she'd messed up time to make this possible... it wasn't going to last.

But for now, Cordelia had her moments, moments to feel, moments to remind Angel that she loved him, that she'd always love him. Angel recovered quickly, and kissed her back, sweet and cool, barely a brush of his tongue before he was pulling back, always trying to be the sensible one, his eyes still closed, their foreheads touching, like he didn't trust himself to look at her. 

"Cordelia, wait, wait. Illyria. What did you do to her?"

"She's weakened. Nothing like what you were going to do to her, but enough that she's stable. You won't have to worry about her going thermonuclear anytime soon."

It felt so _good_ to understand things again, to know how the world worked, to remember everything she'd learned as a Higher Being. She'd miss this when it left her. But then, she realised sadly, perhaps not. She wouldn't miss what she couldn't remember.

"How did you..." He gestured to the room around them, sparing a quick glance for Illyria, who was busy staring at her hands in wonder. "How did you do all this?"

Cordelia smiled and laid her hands on his chest, a simple look between them conveying her concern at his injury, Angel dismissing it as unimportant. "Maybe I'm just that good."

Angel managed a little smile but it faded when he saw the look on her face. "Oh, god," he said, and tightened his grip on her. "You're not staying, are you?"

"I can't," she admitted. "I don't even know why I'm here now. I shouldn't be. Illyria messed up time. I can't stay. This won't last. I'm sorry."

"But this... this means that your memories, all those years you lost... that you're not gone for good, right? I can still find you? It's possible?"

"Angel, I'm right here. You don't need to go looking for me. I'll always be right here."

"I don't want you to go." Angel pulled her close and kissed her. It reminded her so much of the last time they'd kissed, his desperation, how he'd wanted to keep her with him, both of them knowing it was a goodbye.

Around them, the blue light faded from the room, spiralling out of existence, and suddenly there was movement, a scuffle of footsteps, raised voices. Wesley was approaching Illyria, ever cautious, his weapon still raised; Lorne grimacing, backing away like he wanted to distance himself from everything that had just happened; Spike just watching the proceedings in shock.

And Cordelia... Cordelia knew something very important had just happened. Muy importante. Mondo important things. For some reason a very pretty shade of blue stuck in her memory, but beyond that... Beyond that there was nothing. Except, minor detail, somehow she'd wound up kissing Angel, and it didn't look like he cared about their audience or wanted to stop anytime soon.

"Illyria?" she heard Wesley ask through the swirling fog of _Angel's kissing me, Angel's kissing me, holy crapping crap, Angel's kissing me_.

"Touch me and die, vermin," was Illyria's reply.

"Not a very dramatic difference, really," Spike said. "And could we all _please_ stop sucking face for five minutes so someone can tell me what just happened here?"

Angel pulled back, watching her carefully, all dark eyes and brooding concern, but it was all Cordelia could do to stay upright. She'd always wondered what it would be like to kiss Angel, and the hell of it was now she knew. She knew his taste, the slick of his tongue, the blunt edge of his teeth on her lip. She hated that he'd had this much of an effect on her, but the annoying fact of the matter was Angel really knew how to kiss.

" _Oh_ ," she said, and touched her lips, immediately wishing she hadn't. She felt like some dumb heroine in a romance novel, weak-kneed and swooning after being kissed by the bad-boy prince. She hated that she was being such a complete pushover, like a teenager with a ridiculous crush on the ancient, beautiful immortal guy, right where everyone could see her. But Angel had _kissed_ her. He'd kissed her like he meant it. 

And that was really, really freaking hot.

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed like this was the single most tiresome experience of his entire existence, but then he took her by the elbow and led her to one side, away from Angel. 

Who had kissed her.

"What happened to you?" he hissed, tightening his grip when she glanced over his shoulder to where Angel and Wesley were talking about containment and risk assessment and damage limitation. It all went right over her head.

"I... I don't know," she admitted. "I can't remember."

"One minute you were buzzing about in front of me, faster than I could keep up with. The next, all the blue is gone, Illyria's not cracking up, and you're snogging Angel. What gives?"

"I don't know, Spike," she said, more firmly this time, pulling out of his grasp. She smoothed her hair back and took a deep breath, because she was Cordelia Chase, damn it, and she was totally over it already.

She expected an argument, but Spike just stared at her for a long moment. She had no idea what it was that he saw, but he nodded and let it go.

"Spike?" she said, with a little glance over his shoulder, feeling a little frisson of connection when Angel met her gaze. No way. No way she was going to get all star-struck over Angel. She tossed her hair and held her head high. "Spike, will you take me back to the hotel?"

Spike sighed. "Whatever princess wants," he said, holding up a hand to stop Wesley's questions, and led her out without a backward glance.

"Hey, did all this at least take your mind off it?" he asked when they were riding down in the elevator.

"Off what?"

"Whatever it was you were moping over earlier. That was the point of the exercise, after all."

She tried to remember caring about not getting the part. Tried and failed. She'd just watched a god-king almost explode after phasing in and out of time, been kissed by a two-hundred and something year old vampire, and on top of all that, Spike, of all people, was rapidly turning into her best friend and confidant. 

There would be other parts, other roles. It was kind of hard to remember why it had seemed like such a big deal in the first place. She could always try again. She had nothing but time.

"Over it," she said, giving him a little smile. "Totally over it."

They rode down in silence for a moment.

"Oh, hey. Just by the by, did Gunn get out of hell, or what?"


	14. Chapter 14

Angel went right back to being the world's most annoying vampire, avoiding her at every turn. Cordelia was of the opinion that sucking face with someone should change the way they acted around you, but apparently not Angel. Frankly, this was unacceptable. Cordelia happened to be an _awesome_ kisser, not to be so casually dismissed. Not that she cared. This was all on Angel. There was no passing go, no collecting two hundred dollars, just a big stupid vampire with his big stupid glowery face, and his complete and total inability to get over himself.

Cordelia, on the other hand, was so over it.

Angel was being a douche? That was fine. That meant she didn't have to pick and choose her words around him. She didn't have to tread carefully. She could go on the offensive. And that was more than fine with Cordelia. That was what she thrived on.

"You've been totally fobbing me off," she announced, bursting into his office.

"What?" Angel looked up from the stack of paperwork on his desk. "I have?"

"Uh huh. With the credit cards so I could go shopping -- don't think I don't know when someone's trying to buy me off, buster -- and the 'I'm too busy shuffling paper to talk right now, Cordelia' and the 'I have to go punch Spike for a while, Cordelia' and the... the..." She waved her hand, because she so wasn't bringing up that whole kissing thing. "The whole running an evil law firm stuff. But how about we get down to it?"

Angel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "How about we get down to what?"

"The nitty gritty. The heart of the matter. What am I going to do here? I mean, really. We've established I'm not getting my memories back, that my parents are total flakes who wouldn't be able to help me in a million years, my hometown is a dustbowl and everybody's moved on except me... so I'm stuck here, like this, with no hope for me going back to what I remember. I'm living in a black hole of sucktitude with vampires and demons on all sides. So, you tell me. What do I do now, Angel?"

"Oh. That."

"Yes. That."

"I thought maybe we could just keep taking it one day at a time."

She frowned. "That's your big plan? One day at a time? That's just another way of saying 'do absolutely nothing'."

"Cordelia, we don't know what _to_ do. You told me yourself that this was something you asked for. You know, when you were... the older you. The other you. With all your memories. So right now we're kind of stumped."

"So... what? That's it? That's your big solution? I just keep on hanging out here with no hope of a fix, and keep on filling in my time just going to auditions and spending your money? There's nothing else to be done?"

"Auditions?"

"Yeah. That is what I was doing before I worked with you guys, right?"

"Right. Yes. You've been auditioning?"

"Yeah, for, like, nearly a month now. Where have you been? Oh, yeah. Big Cahoona. Busy with the business. How could I forget?"

"Any luck?"

This conversation really wasn't going how she'd planned it. It was kind of hard to maintain any decent levels of righteous indignation when Angel was acting all interested and making actual conversation.

"Luck?"

"With your auditions. Any luck?"

Cordelia examined her nails, hiding her surprise. She'd intended to make a big fuss, grab his attention for a couple of minutes, try and get some kind of answer out of him and make her big exit before he went back to work, whatever the hell his work consisted of here. Whatever it was, it had "big and important" stamped on it in large blood-red letters.

What she hadn't expected was for Angel to take an interest, especially not here in his office. Conversations about Cordelia's state of mind and other general niceties were few and far between, and usually reserved for the Hyperion. Not for here, in the middle of Wolfram & Hart. 

"No. Not as yet," she said smoothly. "But it's a learning process."

"You'll get there."

"Well, yeah. Of course. This is, like, what I was _made_ for."

"You know, we have this entertainment division." He picked up the phone. "I could call Lorne, have him set something up for you--"

"No!" Cordy pulled back the hand she'd thrown out and gave an awkward smile. "Well, Lorne, he's..." 

A demon. Bright green. Sexually ambiguous. Big on the cutesy pet names. So genuine and out-and-out _nice_ that it made Cordelia uncomfortable to have any negative thoughts about him whatsoever. And yet he was a _demon_. How was that even possible?

"I was just thinking maybe this is something I should do by myself, y'know?"

Angel set the phone back in its cradle. "I get that. Just remember that the offer's there if you want it. It doesn't hurt to have a few doors opened for you."

"Yeah. I'll remember that. But I'm good with going it alone for the time being."

"Okay. And, hey, you'll have more time for it now. Now that you don't have to spend so much of your time..."

"What? Helping fight evil? Yeah. I'm thinking that's probably a good thing. And it's not like you need another secretary, right? Because my typing is the pits."

"You should see your filing."

"So we're agreed. No secretary work."

"No secretary work."

"I'm clearly destined for greater things. That's why I'm trying the acting gig."

"Cordelia..." Angel screwed up his face a little. "That didn't really work out too well for you the first time around."

"I'm not surprised. Aiding and abetting superheroes can really eat into your free time. But now that you don't need me, I can just stay here for a while and do my own thing until I get back on my feet, right?"

There was a pause as Angel looked at her and nodded, obviously more that he wanted to say. "I was thinking that maybe you'd want to come into the office a couple of days a week."

"Into Evil Incorporated? Indecisive much? I thought we just moved me out of here for my own good."

"Well, yeah, but this is--"

"Where the action is? Excuse me for wanting to run really fast in the opposite direction."

"Actually, I was thinking I'd like to train you to look after yourself."

"Look after myself?"

"I want to show you how to fight."

"Me?" She snorted, like it was the single most ridiculous idea she'd ever heard. "Fight? What for?"

"For your protection. We did it before."

"Uh, no? I don't do full body contact. There's Buffy and you and Spike to do the slaying. I'm strictly ornamental."

"I just want you to be safe."

"And I just want to win an Emmy before I'm twenty-one. You don't always get what you want, Angel."

"Cordelia--" he said, turning her name into a groan, but she cut him off before he could get any further.

"Look, just give me a bodyguard and a can of mace laced with holy water. Trust me, I see a demon? I'm running the other way."

"Which is an idea I happen to love, but running isn't always enough. You had some close calls before. You want me to tell you about the eye in the back of your head? Or the first demon pregnancy? Or the time you--"

" _First_ demon pregnancy? How many were there?"

"Uh, two. That I know of. You drank my blood."

"I _what_?!"

"Heh. Sorry. Context. You drank the pig's blood I had stored in the fridge. Not, y'know, _my_ blood. That would just be..." He pushed back his shoulders and slanted his gaze away. "Weird."

"This is cheating!" She wagged her finger at him. "You're a cheater. You can just make stuff up all willy-nilly and I have no comeback because any of it could be true and you're just a big, fat, lying cheater."

"Hey, I'm not fa-- lying to you. I promise. You can ask me anything. L.A. can be dangerous, and you got in trouble before. That was actually how we met. Well, really it was at a party, but then there was this vampire who took a shine to you and-- Well, you know all that. But there were definite... adventures, I guess you could call them. And there were definite vampires. And all kinds of definite demons, really. You got in real trouble this time we--"

"Hold it!" She held up her hands to stop him. "I can live without the details of another Cordelia in Peril story. Training is good. I can live with training. I'm thinking it's all the way up at the high end of the fat burning zone."

"Good," Angel said with a short nod. "You were a quick study before. Very handy with a sword."

"Really? Me?" She smiled, oddly pleased at the news, which just went to show that she'd been hanging around Slayers and vampires for way, way too long. "In Sunnydale mostly I just drove people around and mixed stinky herbs once in a while, but I guess I could kick a little ass."

"You kicked plenty of ass. I just should have started teaching you sooner." He looked down at his hands. "I want to keep you safe. It's the least I can do."

"Actually, the least you could do would be nothing, but I can live with the free rent, shopping sprees and the self-defence classes."

"I guess there could be worse things."

"This totally makes you my sugar-daddy, you get that, right?"

Angel grinned, a flash of white that made Cordelia blink with surprise. "I can live with that if you can."

"I'll manage," she said placidly. 

It was strange, when she thought about it, how comfortable Angel seemed to be talking to her when he decided to open up a little. She was used to him being Mr Stoic, and yes, that would always be part of Angel's dubious charms, but there was more now, and it was like he didn't even realise he was doing it. Little things like having a conversation with her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes she even got the feeling he was halfway to teasing her, or at least he would have been if he'd take a second to just relax. But CEOs of Wolfram & Hart didn't get much downtime, she supposed. But sometimes it was like the weight lifted for a moment and he was just being Angel the Guy, as opposed to Angel the Hero, Angel the Vampire, Angel the Man with the Plan.

Cordelia wasn't entirely sure which version of Angel she was more comfortable with, but she'd go with whichever one kept up the offer of free room and board. She may have had her pride, but she also knew how to protect her interests, and Cordelia's biggest interest had always been looking out for number one.


	15. Chapter 15

Cordelia was curled up in the corner of the couch in front of the television, one bare foot tucked under her thigh. The battered old leather couch was incredibly comfortable, one of many scattered throughout the Hyperion, over-stuffed and butter-soft to the touch. Her popcorn was just how she liked it and the new shows she'd been catching up on were pretty darn good. It was the constant running commentary from Spike that was detracting from the experience.

"These women, the actresses, they're machines," he was saying, gesturing at the screen. "Skinny bloody machines at that. They eat, sleep and breathe their jobs. It's not just acting; it's a whole lifestyle."

"What are you saying?" Cordelia asked, tossing another piece of popcorn in her mouth and frowning as she closed her teeth on it. "You don't think I could handle it?"

"Oh, it's not that I don't think you've got star quality, pet," Spike said quickly. "Once upon a time, all you needed was to hit your mark, just once, and that was it, you were made for life. Unless you pissed off the wrong person, that is. I tell you, those Hollywood dolly birds didn't know how good they had it before the talkies came along." He let out a nostalgic little sigh. "These days? It's all marketing and merchandising and PR people and lifestyle coaches and MTV. It's all about who's got the latest reality show. Who's been in rehab recently. Who's in the closet. Who's out of the closet. Simon bleedin' Cowell. He's going to bring the whole thing crashing down, just you see if he doesn't. And don't even get me started on the bloody Scientologists." Spike shifted in his seat, looking thoroughly disgusted. "But it's like this, right. Even if you do make it, you can be shot down again just as fast. It's a chance in a million. I don't want to rain on your parade, pet. I just want you to know that. See it for what it is. People have short memories and even shorter attention spans. You don't want to go selling your soul over it, is all."

"Jeez, that's all?" 

"That's all," he said with another sigh.

Cordelia harrumphed and munched on more popcorn, scowling at the television as on _Desperate Housewives_ Lynette struggled to get her boys under control.

"Okay," she said when Spike's sighs didn't stop and he started shifting around on the other end of the couch, tapping out an annoying little rhythm on the arm. "What the hell is with you? You need a nicotine fix or something? You're being totally freaksome."

"Freaksome?"

"You're being excessively generous with the helpings of nervous energy, Overbite Boy."

"Overbite Boy?"

She nodded, slow and deliberate. "Your bite is very much over, Creechy-face."

"For the love of god."

"You don't like that one? How about Orthodontically Challenged?"

"Oh, come on now. Orthodontically? That's not even a word."

"Sure it is," she said, biting down hard on her grin and aiming for her Serious Discussion Face, but she wasn't entirely sure if she was hitting her mark.

"Is not."

"So sue me. You want to tell me what it is or can I go back to watching this thing? I'm busy identifying with Gabrielle over here."

Spike pulled a face. "Angel's being a tosser."

"How so?"

"He's just so... The man's a complete div."

"Am I supposed to even know what that means?"

"All right. Look." Spike turned in his seat to face her. "If a caveman and an astronaut got in a fight, who would win?"

There was a long pause.

"You _are_ kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"That's what's got you so worked up?"

"Yep."

"And you're not even the teensiest bit mortified that you're sharing this information with real live people?"

"Not even a jot."

"Fine. Vampires are weird." She hit mute on the remote and turned to face him. "Is it a straight out hand-to-hand fight, no outside help, no futuristic stuff like ray guns?"

"Yeah. Mano-a-mano. Brains and brawn. That's it."

"Then the caveman takes the title, duh."

Spike bounced in his seat. "That's what _I_ said."

"And Angel went for the astronaut?"

"Of course he did. Pretentious wanker."

"Well, there's a lot to be said for brainpower, but that usually requires props. Where would MacGyver be without his factory standard rubber bands and paperclips?"

"Exactly."

"Cavemen were tough. Crazy tough. They could run around on broken bones, put up with weather that we couldn't cope with. Thick skin, hard heads, the works. A lot like certain vampires I could mention."

Spike raised an eyebrow, but let it pass. "You know a lot about cavemen, luv."

"I have a direct line tapped into the Font of All Knowledge."

Spike glanced quickly at the ceiling, then rethought himself and narrowed his eyes. "Wikipedia?"

"Discovery Channel."

"Ah. Old school."

"Yeah, whatever. Savannah man triumphed in the end over Icy Glacier man due to superior brainpower, but that's evolution. You're talking face-off? My money's on the caveman."

"That's my girl." With a satisfied smile, Spike relaxed back into his seat and spread his legs wide. "Would you mind awfully telling Angel all that?"

 

\---

 

For their first training session, Angel had scheduled her in for an hour in the afternoon, sandwiched between meetings. Cordelia showed up fifteen minutes late and calmly cited a manicure as the reason.

Angel was stony-faced. "You got a manicure."

"Did I stutter?"

"I have better things to do than waste my time here."

"Hey, this was your idea, buddy. I only showed up out of a lofty sense of moral obligation."

"You're here because I'd like to think that if you get attacked by a demon and I'm not around to protect you, you stand half a chance of walking away from it with all your limbs still attached."

Cordelia gave him a tight-lipped little scowl. She really hated it when Angel had a point.

"Are you going to take this seriously?" he asked.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "Serious like a bad perm."

"Right," Angel said, blinking a couple of times. "Let's get started. And I don't want to have to stop every five minutes because you're worried about breaking a nail."

She froze. "I could break a nail?"

" _Cordelia_ ".

"Fine. Whatever. I can rough it, I guess. Where do we start?"

Cordelia spent the next forty-five minutes feeling uncomfortable, crowded, sulky as hell and horribly out of shape. Getting physical with a vampire who didn't break a sweat or need to breathe, and who could bend in ways that Cordelia could only dream of was just patently unfair.

On top of that, Angel was clearly annoyed that she wasn't picking things up more quickly. As if she wasn't giving it her all. As if all the balancing and concentrating and protecting her weak spots wasn't really freaking exhausting and stupidly complicated. When she threw her hands up in frustration and asked when they were getting to the punching and kicking part of the proceedings, Angel gritted his teeth like he was clinging onto the last remaining shreds of his sanity and told her they were weeks away from anything like that.

"Defence comes before offence, Cordelia. You need to know how to protect yourself before you learn how to start fighting back. And you've got a _lot_ to learn."

"Bite me," she muttered under her breath.

"Don't tempt me," Angel snapped back, making her jump and blush as she belatedly remembered about heightened vampire hearing. "You're not trying, Cordelia. You picked this up a lot quicker before."

"Oh, god _damn it_!" she yelled, officially at the end of her tether. "I don't know any of this! I've never done this before. Whatever you taught the old me, that's not me! How many times do I have to remind you people? Your Cordelia is gone. Everything she knew? Gone. This is me. I'm standing right here, Angel, and I'm starting from scratch. I don't even want to be here. I don't _remember_ what we did before, but I bet I was too stupidly polite to tell you what a crappy teacher you were!"

They stood there, glaring at one another. Cordelia's chest heaved and Angel's eyes glinted an ominous shade of matt gold, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

When Angel tossed the towel he was holding to the ground and stormed out of the training room, it was all Cordelia could do to stand tall and not flinch in the face of his anger. She stood very still, taking long, slow breaths, fighting down the urge to start kicking things.

"Screw it," she decided, because she was never one to back down from an argument and she wasn't about to let Angel think he had the upper hand. There was no way she was putting up with him going back to being stoic and generally irritating in every way.

Just as Angel had stormed out on her, she stormed right into his office and caught him staring out the window, stiff-jawed, with a large glass of whiskey in his hand.

"How come you're always the one who gets to pull the disappearing act?" Cordelia demanded. "I was busy being all furious and righteous and you walk out? That's just _rude_."

"I'm trying to help you, Cordelia," Angel said, his mouth a grim, flat line. "You're not even trying."

"I am too trying! Did you ever think that you're just a crummy teacher?"

"So you think this is my fault?" he spat, whiskey sloshing over the side of his glass. "Like I don't have better things I could be doing?"

She lifted her chin defiantly, her fists clenched at her sides. "I think you're trying to cover your ass because you're a lousy teacher like-like-like you're covered in... louses!"

"Lice?"

"Right! What I said. Lice."

Cordelia fought it, she really did. She tried to stay indignant, but it was just so silly all of a sudden, and she couldn't hold in the laughter that bubbled up through her chest. It was the strangest thing in the world to see Angel smile, then actually _chuckle_ along with her.

How on earth did Angel do that, she wondered, as the unbearable tension melted from the room in seconds flat. Maybe this was how they'd been before. Maybe this was how come they were supposed to have been such good friends.

He gave her an odd little smile and abandoned his glass on the desk. "I guess I have been a little--"

"Shitty?"

"Shitty works." He rubbed his forehead, searching for the right words. "Cordy, I know this hasn't been easy for you, and I'm sorry, I really am, but you have to know that we have a lot to do here."

"I know," she sighed. "Fighting the good fight. Saving the world. Blabbity blah."

"Actually, running this place takes up the bulk of my time, but you're in the ballpark."

"Yeah," she said, though it wasn't the answer she'd been expecting.

"It's just..." He sighed. "It's difficult for me. But I want you to know that I'll be on top of things soon. Then maybe we can do some more about your situation."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess that would be good."

"Just give me a little time. I just have..."

"Priorities. Obligations. Weight of the world."

"Right," he said, sounding unhappy. "And, hey, if all else fails, we could always get a set of memories crafted for you. The facilities here really are the best."

"Just like that? You can't get the real thing back, so you click your fingers and make up what you want?"

"Pretty much," he said with a little shrug. "Just a suggestion. Up to you."

"Thanks. Think I'll pass."

"Actually," he said with a frown, "I don't think I like the sound of it much either. Sorry."

"Yeah, well," she said, already walking away. "This has been a blast. Same time tomorrow?"

"Cordy?" he called, making her pause. "I, uh, I know you've been spending a lot of time with Spike."

"No, I... Wait. I have. I've been hanging with Spike. Oh my god. We're, like, _roomies_." She rested her fingertips on her lips. "This is too weird."

"Yeah, I just wanted you to know that it's... good. I mean, it's good that you're doing your own thing. That you're not alone while I'm..." He gestured around his office. "But I haven't forgotten about you."

"Forgotten what exactly?"

"Well, that you're, you know, here. And that you need me. My help. That you need my help. I just wanted to make sure that you know I'm here."

"So you're here. Like... geographically."

"Yes! Except I'm not here as much as I'd like to be. There's a lot going on." He snorted at the understatement. "Like, a _lot_. So that's why. Why I'm not, uh, actually here. But as soon as it's done, I'm totally here. Geographically and otherwise."

"You know you used to talk a lot less in Sunnydale. But on the whole, it made a lot more sense."

"I guess so."

"Definitely. The others always ragged on you for being Cryptic Guy, but I totally respected that." She nodded seriously. "Somebody as old as you? Gotta be smart, like it's the rest of the world that has all the catching up to do." Angel nodded slowly, like he was unsure if this was leading to a compliment or not. "So when did you start the babbling?" she asked. "I don't get it. Did you spend a lot of quality time with Willow or something?"

"No, I guess I was just coming out of a really bad time in Sunnydale, kind of a low point in a bad century."

"Homeless guy eating rats?"

Angel pressed his lips together. "That part you remember, huh?"

"Sure. And so... what? L.A. perked you up? You're back to being King of the Castle so you let the babble roam free?"

She watched, fascinated, as Angel squirmed just a little. She didn't think she'd ever seen him squirm before. It seemed like such an un-Angel-like thing to do.

"After I moved here, I guess I just got used to having conversations that didn't always relate to, well, killing things. It kind of broadens your horizons."

"Oh. Well, that's an upturn, I guess."

"It was you, actually. You brought it out of me. You wouldn't let me sit in the dark and brood."

"I did? Bet that just bugged the hell right out of ya."

He gave her a wry smile. "Little bit."

"You know, the smiling thing looks good on you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's like a toothpaste commercial. You should do it more often."

"I'll remember that," he said softly, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. Before she could do anything about it, Angel turned away, picking up seemingly random pieces of paper from his desk. "Listen, I was thinking. I should have done this earlier, but I thought I could set up a bank account for you. So you'll have something to fall back on. Just until the acting thing pans out."

Cordelia's heart beat a little faster in her chest. She toyed with the idea of saying no, she really, really did, because she still had her pride, but then that was pretty much all she had right now, and pride didn't buy new shoes. She'd even been relying on Spike to buy the groceries, and while he always bought enough tea bags, milk, booze and cereal to feed a small army, he never seemed to remember her protein shakes or fresh fruit and vegetables. She was sick of the sight of pizza and Chinese take-out.

"That's a little _Pretty Woman_ ," she said. "But, hey, free money. I guess I'm good with that."

"Good. I'll have Harmony set it up tomorrow."

"Although still having trouble with Harm being your secretary. Don't think that one's ever going to not be weird."

"She prefers "Executive Assistant"."

"Does she take shorthand?"

"No, but her typing's pretty good."

"Bring you coffee?"

"Warmed otter blood."

"Remind me never, ever to ask her for a latte."

Angel mimed shooting a gun at her and made a little click-click sound in his cheek. 

With wide eyes, Cordelia turned on her heel and high-tailed it out of his office before things had a chance to get any weirder.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Angel episode 5.20 The Girl in Question.

Angel's office was quiet and dark: just the place for two brooding souled vampires.

"With regards, The Immortal," Angel read through gritted teeth. He angrily tore the note in his hand into tiny shreds. "You know, I really hate that guy."

"What's Buffy thinking? Honestly?" Spike asked.

"She doesn't exactly have the best taste in men." Angel cast a sidelong glance at Spike. "Case in point."

"Hey! Pot and kettle! And I think I turned out all right."

"Yeah," Angel said. "Once she got through with you."

If there was one thing that Spike hated, it was ever admitting that Angel was even the teeniest bit right. So he did what he always did in those situations: resorted to insults. 

"I wasn't the one living in festering alleys, wearin' dead tramps' clothes, rubbin' rat filth all over my face and harbouring a secret deadly curse," he said. "If we're talking projects, you were the Sistine Chapel."

"I wasn't a project," Angel objected.

"Well, neither was I.' Spike wondered if they were working up to a proper fight, or if this was just going to be another round of hot air and bluster. It seemed to be all he and Angel did these days. At least, any day when Angel didn't unexpectedly turn into a grumpy little puppet. Besides, all this, it felt like they were talking about something that had happened decades ago. Sure, if he prodded at his memories of Buffy it could still blindside him with hurt and regrets and want, but this... it felt over already. Two old men arguing about how the world kept changing around them, no matter how much they wanted it to stay the same. 

He watched as Angel sighed, any fight going out of him as he sat on the edge of his desk. Spike breathed softly, and realised he didn't feel much like fighting either. 

"Can't we just... lock her away in a box where no one can ever touch her? You know?"

Angel folded his arms. "I don't think she'd let us. Uh, she's pretty strong." 

Spike felt a burst of something warm deep inside his chest for Angel taking the suggestion even halfway seriously. Just like the good old days, dealing with things like proper vampires, before they started with the do-gooding and the souls and all the socialising with humans. If they couldn't have Buffy, then the rest of the world most certainly wasn't entitled to her.

"We could do a spell," Spike suggested, sticking out his bottom lip and feeling ever-so-slightly evil. "Some sort of mind control."

"Oh, she'd figure it out. You know, she's pretty smart."

"Yeah," Spike sighed. He moved to sit on the edge of the desk beside Angel, their shoulders brushing. "So, what? We just have to live with it? Get on with our lives?" 

"'Fraid so," Angel said.

Spike sighed. The whole thing sounded rather too much like being sensible for his liking. "Fine," he said, feeling petulant. He sniffed, like he didn't care much one way or another. "No problem. I was plannin' on doin' that anyway."

"Yeah. Me too."

"I'm actually doin' it right now. As we speak, I'm movin' on."

"Movin' on."

"Oh, yeah."

"Right now."

Spike glanced at the clock on the wall. "Actually, speakin' of moving on... yeah. Gotta go. I have a date."

Angel pulled a series of interesting faces, each more incredulous than the last. "You couldn't wait _five minutes_ before actually moving on?"

"It's movie night," Spike said simply. "Delia'll be waiting for me."

Angel narrowed his eyes. "I hate you."

"Mutual," Spike said instantly and without inflection. He hopped off Angel's desk and took a short little breath. "Well. This walk down Memory Lane's been fun an' all. We should do it again in another fifty years or so."

"Wait," Angel called when Spike was halfway out of the room. "I'm coming with you."

Spike tutted. "Nobody invited you, Normal No-mates."

Angel grabbed his coat from the stand. "It's my hotel. Suck it up."

 

\---

 

"Hey," Cordelia said, without looking up from her glossy magazine. She was curled up in her customary position in the corner of the over-stuffed couch. The room was warm and welcoming and smelled like freshly made popcorn. "I was about to start without you." She lifted her head and raised an appraising eyebrow at Spike. "New coat? Looks good on you."

"You like?" Spike did a little turn. "Picked it up in Rome." He grinned and tossed a parcel at her.

Cordelia made an excited squeaking noise and attacked the wrapping on the box. "Shoes!" she shrieked, clasping them to her chest. "You got me shoes. Really pretty Italian shoes." 

Spike smiled. "And they don't look even a little bit like beetles."

Cordelia stood up to give him an awkward one-armed hug without relinquishing her hold on the shoes, then plonked herself back down on the couch to try them on.

"Hope you guys had a good time in Rome while I was here all by myself, alone and unprotected."

"I had some of my men watching over the hotel," Angel said, glaring at Spike over her head. Spike stuck out his tongue and perched on the arm of the couch. "And the wards are still in place," Angel continued. "You had nothing to worry about.

Cordelia paused in fastening the tiny buckles on her shoe and looked up at him. "You had some random guys watching me the whole time you were away and you didn't even tell me? You really don't get the concept of 'creepy' at all, do ya?"

"That's not creepy," Angel said. "I'm just looking out for your wellbeing."

"Well, next time be sure and let me know that there's someone doing the looking." She went back to her shoe, frowning. "I hope I remembered to close the drapes."

"Oh, they have this infrared scope thing anyway so it wouldn't matter if--"

Cordelia glared at him and Angel shut up quickly. 

She stood up and walked up and down a couple of times, showing off the shoes from every angle, giving Spike and Angel ample time to make the appropriate noises of appreciation.

"So, ah, what are we watching?" Angel asked when Cordelia finally retook her seat, her legs sticking out in front of her so she could keep admiring the shoes. She held up a video tape from the coffee table and waggled it at him.

"That's right," said Spike. "Nineties Girl here actually taped something off the telly. On a _video_. I feel all nostalgic. Perhaps we should whip out the phonograph later and we can all have a bit of a sing-a-long."

Cordelia elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up. I've got more than four years of movies to catch up on. I can't watch them all at once. Keanu and Brad have been pretty busy in my absence. So I taped a movie. No biggie. What else is a girl to do?"

Spike stole a handful of the warm, buttery popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table as he rolled his eyes. "They're called DVDs," he said, munching. "Or TiVo. Or you could just download a couple of films from the internet."

"Hey, I had one of the first DVD players on the market when they came out. But I still had most things on tape. Baby steps." She went to the television and grabbed the remote. "I only just figured out how to use all the functions on my cell phone. Those things got complicated fast."

She was about to slot the video into the machine when Angel was suddenly in her space, grabbing her wrist, hard. Her breath left her in a rush, startled at how fast he could move when he wanted to. Angel usually was so careful around her. 

"What did you do?" he hissed.

"Ow! What is your damage?"

"Did you tape over this?"

"God, yes! It was some old tape in one of my boxes of stuff, jeez. I checked it first. There was nothing on it. Just some funny-looking Irish guy talking about Angel Investigations and rats." Her indignation faded a little when Angel let go of her. She stepped away, stumbling a little on her new heels, rubbing her wrist. The genuine anguish she could see in him caught her off guard, making her pause, the only thing saving her from getting really angry or scared. "I mean, talk about your terrible audition tapes. It was nothing."

"Goddamn it, Cordelia. You just don't think."

"What did I do?" she asked, truly confused.

"This was-- He--" Angel sagged, his anger evaporating as quickly as it had flared up. "I'm going out," he said quietly, his jaw tight. "Enjoy your movie." He backed off a few paces, and strode out of the room, leaving awkward silence in his wake.

"Seriously. What did I do?"

Spike was frowning at the door Angel had slammed behind him. "You got me, cutie. You got me."

Shaken, but trying not to show it, she sat at the other end of the couch from Spike, feeling silly in her new shoes. "I guess movie night is out. And don't call me cutie."

"How about a little TV, instead?" Spike suggested. "There's always something on when you've got two hundred plus channels."

"Okay," she said, her eyes straying back to the door. "Sure thing."

"Hey," Spike said. "Don't sweat it, Delia. You're bound to make mistakes. Much as it pains me to stick up for the wanker, Angel doesn't mean to hurt you. You know that."

"I guess." She sighed. "I just... I always feel like I'm letting him down. Like he's got me up on some pedestal when in reality I'm, like, down at sea level and sinking fast."

"You know, I'm getting tired of bolstering your flagging ego," he said, not unkindly. "You're a good girl, and you know it. All this is just teething trouble. You and Angel spent a lot of time together. He's stupidly in love with you. Crazy thing is, you're right in front of you and he probably misses you. That can't be easy."

Cordelia's eyes got very large. "He's _what_? Angel? Like in love in love? Are you sure you've got the right vampire? Are you sure you've got the right me?"

"I'm sure."

"But... what? _Why_? How?"

"Come on now. What's not to love?"

"But... Buffy!"

"Didn't work." He gave a little sigh. "Doesn't seem to work for her and vampires. Which, in all fairness, it really shouldn't. Goes against the grain."

"But Angel's, like, Mr. Dark, Broody and Obsessive. I even don't understand how we could have ended up..."

"Friends?"

"That'll do for starters."

Spike considered this. "You know, you were probably good for him. I can see you annoying him into having an emotion or three. Getting him to talk about his feelings." He grinned. "You must have driven him up the wall."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, luv," Spike said with a crooked little smile. "Not a thing. Anyway, can we please stop with the Angel low-down? Talking about him this much without using more belittling swearwords really gets me down."

"But you're my answers guy."

"And if you've got a question, you know where to come. I'll give it to you straight. Straight as you want it." 

He leered at her and she pulled a face, scrunching up her nose.

"Gross, Spike. Totally gross."

He just grinned, and tossed another piece of popcorn into his mouth.


	17. Chapter 17

Spike trudged along at Angel's side. He was tired, covered in foul-smelling blood and gore, and more than a little singed around the edges. A broadsword dangled from his hand. The sword belonged to Angel, one of the ones from the good weapons cabinet, so Spike was letting the tip of it trail carelessly along the ground behind him. He couldn't even pronounce the name of the giant lizard demon thing that Angel had helpfully neglected to mention _farted fire_ when it felt threatened, so the care and maintenance of Angel's precious weaponry wasn't exactly high on Spike's list of priorities.

Spike was chain-smoking, just so he could kid himself that he couldn't smell the mixed stink of the old sewer tunnels and the barbecued crap splattered all over them.

"You do know this coat is new, right?"

Angel barely grunted in reply.

"You know how hard it is to get demon guts out of leather?"

Angel turned a corner, and Spike started to think that maybe, just maybe, Angel was trying to ignore him. So Spike picked up his pace and started singing _I'm Henry the Eighth, I am_ in as cheerful and as loud a voice as he could muster. He got to the second verse, same as the first, for the seventh time before Angel grabbed him by the throat and slammed him up against the slimy sewer wall.

Spike choked out a lungful of smoke and grinned brightly. "You know," he said, rasping around the forearm Angel had pressed into his throat. "You've still got a hell of a temper on you, Angelus. Time of the month, is it?"

Angel shoved away from him with a growl, and resumed walking.

"I can see why Cordelia is so calm in your company," Spike said, following along behind and massaging his abused throat. "You really put the shits up her the other night. Over a video? What the hell was that, Angel?"

"Nothing," Angel said without looking back. "It was nothing."

"You want to get her back on side, that's hardly the way to go about it."

"She has nothing to worry about from me."

"Yeah? Try telling her that. You kidding yourself that you can't hear her heart speed up around you? And not in the good way, mate. Girl's scared of you, soul or no."

Angel scowled, glancing back at Spike over his shoulder. "Why is it no one seems to think that you're still a liability with a soul?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "No happiness clause, you dunkle. Plus I'm still pretty much like my old self. All the old clan from Sunnydale, they all got used to me pre-soul when I had to play nice to get my weekly bagged blood deliveries. You, on the other hand, pulled the rug out from under them when your soul went bye-bye. They didn't see you coming. With all your flitting back and forth to the dark side, it's no bloody wonder nobody trusts you."

"Cordelia trusts me."

Spike smirked. "Maybe once upon a time, but methinks you're going to have to re-seed that little cabbage patch."

Spike tensed, ready for Angel to lash out, but instead Angel just paused, not turning around. "Just make sure nothing happens to her, or I'll hold you personally responsible."

Spike clicked his boot heels together and gave a crisp salute. "Sir, yes sir!" he barked.

"I love it when you fall into line," Angel said, instantly robbing Spike of his good humour.

 

\---

 

Spike hadn't realised that babysitting Cordelia was going to involve such large quantities of obnoxious dance music and froofy umbrella drinks. The nightclub he'd escorted her to -- after a long and complex argument involving Cordelia's insistence that she didn't need a babysitter and the terrible things she would do to Spike if he got in the way of any cute, rich boys that fate happened to toss her way -- didn't even have any beer on tap.

He didn't have to like it, but he understood Cordelia's quest to escape for the night, to seek out a little normality and lose herself in the crowd. The only strange thing about it was that she hadn't done it sooner after discovering her IDs with her official birthdate on them. Except somehow they'd ended up standing glumly at the bar, Cordelia toying with the straw in her drink, and Spike wondering if it was worth his while looking for somewhere he could smoke in peace.

"I'm tired of this babysitting shite," he announced, and polished off his drink with a grimace. "Oh, hey, don't get me wrong," he said, seeing Cordelia's expression. "It's not the baby, baby. It's the sitting."

"Oh, well, that makes it all okay."

"I mean, look at us. You're miserable. You turned down that last guy who wanted to chat you up. I thought that was the whole point of the evening. Not that I'd let him anywhere near you, but that's not the point."

Cordelia lifted her glass. "I took the drink he sent over."

"And I'm very proud of you." Spike lifted his empty glass to the bartender, gesturing for a refill. "God, this place is boring." He curled his lip at the décor, all neon lowlights and leather cubes for seats. He let his eyes follow a gaggle of girls as they tottered past, checking him out with coy little glances, smiling when they saw him looking. "I mean," he said, sticking out his bottom lip, "it has its perks, but don't you want to go somewhere with a little character?"

"You mean somewhere old and mouldy, with a walking mohawk on stage screaming into a microphone and head-butting things? Thanks. Think I'll pass."

Spike sniffed. "Don't know what you're missing. Nothing like a bit of culture."

"And that's nothing like a bit of--"

Vampire reflexes or not, it was luck more than anything that let Spike catch Cordelia before she hit the floor. He'd hesitated because, honestly, he had no idea what was happening in the two seconds it took for her to clutch her head and crumple like her knees had suddenly stopped working. He checked her over for injury, but there was nothing, just Cordelia whimpering and curling against his chest.

"Delia? Hey now. What's all this?"

"Don't know, don't know," she whispered, the heel of her hand pressed to her forehead.

"Flashback?" 

"No. Dumbass. I grew up in the nineties, not the sixties."

It was classic Cordelia, but her tone was all off, scared and shaken.

"Then what? Migraine?"

"No. I never... Spike. This isn't... It's like... like I'm seeing things. In my head. She's... It... it hurts. I can feel it. Is it a spell? A curse? Or-or like I'm remembering something? You know. From before?"

Spike gritted his teeth, feeling useless and clamping down on the urge to hurt someone for making Cordelia still have to deal with this on top of everything else. 

"Visions," he said. "You have visions. Used to have." He brushed back her hair from her face, frowning as she flinched away from his touch. "Are clearly still having. You're the link, Delia."

"Link?"

"To the Powers That Be, may they all disappear up their own arses. You're Angel's link. You're a seer."

"Angel. Of course. It's always Angel. What is it with you people? Do you have to destroy every single life you touch?"

There was a time and a place for taking umbrage at such questions. Spike wisely decided that this was not one of them.

"Come on, sweets. Let me get you out of here."

Cordelia nodded gratefully, letting Spike support her as they walked together out of the club. She seemed to perk up a little when they hit the air outside, making him wait as she extracted some aspirin from her little purse and dry-swallowed three of them.

She took a couple of deep breaths and drew her shoulders back, standing a little straighter, one hand on his arm for balance. "Okay. Spill."

"Visions," Spike said, taking her elbow and glaring at the driver of a silver Mercedes for daring to exist as they walked in front of him, heading for their spot in the parking lot. "I don't know much about them, only that they're serious amounts of not fun for you. Humans were never meant to carry the burden, but you drew the short straw."

"Great," she said, sounding weary and pissed off. "I can't tell you how freaking, unbelievably _great_ this all is."

"Let's get you home, hm?" he said when they reached the car, carefully positioning Cordelia so she could lean up against it while he searched his pockets for the keys.

Cordelia's jaw was tight, her arms wrapped firmly around her torso as she stared out across the parking lot to the world beyond. "And then what? Everybody can tell me how sorry they are, but they can't take the time to do anything about it right now, so basically I'll just have to deal? Thank you, have a nice day. Any of this sounding familiar?"

"I get it. I do. But there isn't much we can do from here."

"Bullshit," she spat, scowling as she massaged her temples. "This is all such bullshit. There isn't much you can do anywhere. Did nobody think that this might be a part of my past that was actually worth mentioning? God!"

"I didn't bloody _know_ you!" Spike tossed out, because hurting or not, there was only so much crap you had to take from a lady before you dished out a little in return. "I don't know anything about your pestering visions. Or, come to that, anything about your life here. Everything I know about you, I'm getting most of it straight from the source. You want to know about your life before, you ask Angel. He's your cuddly boy-toy after all."

She gave him an incredulous look, one hand held out between them to stop his words. "He was not my... eww. Just eww." She pulled a face. "You," she said, enunciating her words very clearly, "are an ass."

"Beggin' your pardon, I'm sure."

She opened her mouth to retort, but Spike stopped her, putting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. He looked her in the eyes and said, "You'll be fine. I can see it." He kissed her quickly on the lips, a friendly peck, nothing more. "Better?"

With a confused expression on her face, she nodded, her tongue darting out to wet just the corner of her bottom lip.

"Good. Now, come on and I'll get you home and we'll have this sorted out in no--"

Cordelia tilted her face and touched their mouths together, cutting him off in his absolute favourite way. The surprise of it made him open his mouth -- to speak, to breathe, he wasn't sure -- but this just served to deepen their kiss. Cordelia's breath was warm in his mouth, her hands tightly gripping his collar, pulling him down to her even as she held herself up. Spike wondered if he shouldn't perhaps do the decent thing and end it before they got carried away. After all, she was young, probably confused after the shock of her vision, probably hurting, probably just using this whole thing as a distraction from the pain. The girl likely didn't know what the hell she wanted. Then as her tongue brushed his, still sweet from the cocktail she'd been drinking, he thought, no, perhaps not.

It was only when she bit at his lip that Spike gathered the tattered shreds of his decency and broke their kiss. Cordelia didn't look at him, staring instead at her hands resting on his chest. She chewed on her bottom lip, apparently deep in thought.

"Cordelia, this isn't... I mean. Don't feel like you have to--"

"Yeah. I know. Absolutely. That was... Well, it's not... I mean it was really... but it isn't going to..." She took a deep breath. "Spike," she said firmly, looking up at him. "I just don't date vampires."

"Date?" Spike murmured, busy staring at her mouth. He blinked. "Wait. Date? Who said anything about _dating_ , for Chrissakes? You kissed me!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"Ha! Yeah, well, I don't date either."

"Then what would you call it?"

"A bloody good distraction, if you ask me."

"Would you believe me if I said I had a headache?"

"Right. This probably isn't the best time for this."

"No. Really not." She blinked, seeing something he couldn't. "Downtown. We have to go downtown."

"Don't you want to go home? Or to Angel? Get this thing sorted?"

"I don't want to wait. Spike, there's a girl there. She's... Vampires. They're going to..." 

She looked up at him, pale and unwavering and beautiful. Spike knew without doubt that he was completely buggered. 

"We have to stop them. We have to go now. I can't... I just... I have to do this now. I need your help. Will you take me?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'll take you."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from 5.21 Power Play.

The crystal hadn't been easy to acquire. A year or so ago, Angel would have said getting his hands on it was impossible. These days, impossible wasn't quite so hard to come by. The crystal had been tickling him all day, safe in the inside pocket of his jacket, the thrum of energy warm against his ribs, making him think more than once that his cell phone was buzzing.

They were all in his office: Spike, Wesley, Lorne, and Gunn, all baying for his blood, and Marcus was watching them through the window, looking for any chinks in Angel's armour, any sign that things were not as they should be. This was the moment Angel had been waiting for. He just wished that the moment could have come _before_ Lorne had fired an arrow through his shoulder. He pulled the crystal out of his pocket and held it in front of him. 

"Involvere," he said, and the crystal glowed hot in his hand in response. A magical force burst from it, sending a jolt up through his shoulder and emitting a wave of light that travelled through his office.

"All right," he said, releasing his grip on Lorne's throat. "We have six minutes."

"Till what?" Spike asked, still full of distrust.

"The glamour collapses. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, we're still at each other's throats."

Lorne shot him a particularly vicious glare. There was a lot of doubt and suspicion in the room, and really Angel didn't blame them. Hell, he'd been busting his ass recently to make sure his closest friends didn't trust him, and now he had less than six minutes to make them understand why. He made it as short and sweet as he could, explaining about Drogyn, the assassin, Illyria's resurrection and Fred's death, and how he'd twisted everything to make it look like he was behind it all.

"Why would you want us to believe you killed Fred?" Wesley asked, holding himself too steady and too calm, making it clear to anyone who really knew him that it still clawed at him to have to say her name.

"Because they needed to believe it," Angel said, hating himself, hating what had become of Wesley, the man he'd once called his best friend, hating that so much of it was his fault.

"The Black Thorn," Gunn said, pieces falling into place.

"They needed to believe my own people didn't trust me anymore. They needed to believe a person as good and as pure as Drogyn considered me an enemy. It was the only way to gain their confidence."

And the only way to sell another little piece of his tarnished soul. Angel knew he was doing all of this for the right reasons -- he had to put his faith in it, couldn't waver from that belief for even a second -- but it was hard to know that things had come to this. 

It all felt so much like an ending.

"Oh, so this whole 'Evil Angel' thing has been a big scamola. Hmm. I smell Oscar," Lorne said, still holding his neck. 

Angel felt a pang of guilt, but then again, he was the one who'd had an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, and Lorne did have the handy knack of being able to reattach his head should the situation warrant it, so Angel figured he could let that one slide. Spike was eyeing him coolly. Angel probably knew Spike better than anyone on the planet, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside that blond head. Not that he'd ever tell Spike that.

"When did all this start?" Spike asked.

"Two months ago. With a kiss."

"Cordelia," Spike said quietly.

"The one and only."

"And we're supposed to just buy that?"

"Well," Angel said. "I'd tell you to ask her, but..."

"Right," Spike said. "Slight problem with her not remembering a damn thing about it. Handy how we have to believe your little story with zero proof."

"Cordelia gave you her visions?" Wesley asked.

Angel started to walk around the room, needing movement. He could see that his friends were still very much on their guard around him, listening but not convinced, waiting for the double-cross they all knew Angel was more than capable of. Spike's gaze was heaviest of them all.

"One-shot deal," Angel said. "She put me on the path, showed me where the real powers are. But I couldn't see who they were. Then, when Fred died, I wasn't going to let that be another random horrible event in another random horrible world." He looked around at each of their faces. "There's been too much of that, and no matter how we feel right now, no matter all the crap we've been through... there has to be a point. A reason for going on. So I decided to use it, to make her death matter." He paused for a second, letting that sink in. "And it worked. I'm in. I've seen the faces of evil. I know who the real powers in the apocalypse are."

He gave them his speech. The one he'd practiced over and over in his head, wishing for a mirror that would show him anything other than emptiness reflected back at him. He laid it all out for them. His grand plan: smashing the Black Thorn and stopping evil in its tracks, if only for a moment; showing those who thought themselves above the petty squabbles of Good versus Evil, the ones who thought themselves untouchable, that they _weren't_.

He gave his friends his words, and in return he asked them for their help. He told them that he didn't expect any of them to survive this fight; that this was one battle the heroes probably wouldn't walk away from. He knew he sounded inspirational. He knew he sounded crazy. He knew these people had been to hell and back. He knew that they were good and strong, and they deserved the title of Hero. They'd earned it.

But he didn't know if they'd stand at his side this one last time.

"I need you to be sure. Power endures. We can't bring down the Senior Partners, but for one bright, shining moment, we can show them that they don't own us. You need to decide for yourselves if that's worth dying for. I can't order you to do this. I can't do it without you. So we'll vote. As a team. Think about what I'm asking you to do. Think about what I'm asking you to give."

"Kill 'em all," Spike said. "Burn the house down while we're still in it." His voice was low and thoughtful, so different from the Spike who ran head-first into battle, whooping and yelling at the promise of blood and violence. 

"Something like that," Angel said.

"So all this. This is why you were sniffing around Nina instead of being the world's oldest bachelor boy."

"Yeah," Angel said, keeping it flat and expressionless. "Pretty much."

"So why did you dump her, then?" Spike asked.

Angel didn't falter. "Cordelia came back. They would have known that I wanted her more than anything. Stands to reason I would go after her."

"Yeah," Spike said, his lip curled with distaste. "Stands to reason."

"We done with this?"

"We're done. For now."

"Good," Angel said, glancing at the clock, "because we're running out of time."

Spike took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "Fine. You got me. I'm in."

Wesley glanced between the two of them. "I'm in."

There were mere seconds left as Gunn and Lorne raised their hands as well.

Time. There was never enough of it. Never enough to say all the things he wanted to say. Never enough to stop terrible things from happening. Never enough to put right his wrongs. Angel could only hope it was enough. He could only hope his crazy, stupid, glorious plan would work. Cordelia had given him the message, his friends were with him, and they had a chance.

It was the best he could hope for.

 

\---

 

Cordelia's mug of hot chocolate stalled halfway to her lips. "What? Hamilton knocked her out? Is that even possible?"

"Yup," Spike said, dropping a few more little marshmallows into his mug, adding them one at a time from between his finger and thumb, turning the whole thing into a gloopy white and pink sludge. "She was furious. Said he sucker-punched her. Well, in so many words, you know? Wesley calmed her down, but he said..."

Spike paused, looking thoughtfully at the contents of his mug, like somehow his answers were in there, hiding, just under the surface. This only served to amp up Cordelia's curiosity. Patience never had been one of her strong suits.

"Funny thing," Spike said. "Wesley said he thought it would be worse. Y'know, if Hamilton and Illyria ever went head-to-head, what with him having the Wolfram & Hart heavy-duty mojo behind him. But she's fine. Spitting nails by all accounts, and got herself a hell of a shiner, but fine. I guess whatever you did to her left her with a bit more juice than they gave her credit for. Should come in handy, seeing how Angel's grand plan is... Well. Completely crackers."

"Yeah. Not loving the plan, I have to admit."

"What's not to love?" he asked, staring at the last marshmallow between his finger and thumb. "Taking a stand. Making a difference." He squashed the marshmallow flat. "Getting crushed like a bug."

"Don't say that. It's not funny."

Spike shrugged and dropped the marshmallow in with the others. "Sorry, pet. I know."

"I just. I can't keep up with Angel. He could have told me, you know? Especially since I'm the one is supposed to have given him the big vision in the first place."

"He couldn't tell anyone, love. That's the whole point. And he's been trying to keep you close, keep you safe, and all the while keep you out of harm's way. Hell of a balancing act, if you ask me."

"Yeah. Balancing. Sure. Like one minute he's a perfect gentleman, even though that's weird enough. The next minute he's dark and moody and just downright creepy."

"What? More than usual?"

"Way more. I can't figure him out at all."

"Is he dark and moody and downright creepy when you see him at the office?"

"He-- I guess. Mostly. I can't remember."

"And he's nice as pie when you're away from that place, right?"

She took a moment to think. "Yeah. I suppose. Jeez, he needs to get himself a couple of executive stressbusters if the office gets to him that much. Maybe one of those little trays of sand and a miniature rake he can play with. I hear they're very zen."

"They're watching him, Delia. He has to act like Dark Lord of the Underworld because they're watching him. Everything's bugged."

"Oh," she said. " _Oh_. Oh god, that makes so much sense!" Her face fell. "Hey, why didn't he tell me? I'm excellent at keeping secrets. He's supposed to care about me so much and he couldn't even tell me that?"

"He couldn't tell anyone because they were watching him. He had to cast a spell so he could hide us from prying eyes for long enough to tell us what was going on. You weren't there and he had to take his chance when the going was good."

"Oh," she said again, then a horrible thought occurred to her. "Oh god. What if this place is bugged too?"

"It's not. He had it checked over right before you moved in. There are ironclad wards and spells covering every inch of this place. He outsourced and had everything double and triple checked. Nothing can see in, and nothing with evil intent is getting within fifty feet of this place without getting a severe case of dead."

"Thorough."

"Got to keep princess in her castle."

Cordelia gave him a little smile, but she was busy trying to piece together what she'd been told. "But why the act?"

"Because the daft bugger wants to take them all down. Make a last stand. Sweep the boards. So he's letting them think he's playing into their hands and getting all caught up in the power trip. Looks like they're buying it too. And it's all thanks to you."

"So what you're saying is... if it all goes horribly wrong, it's my fault?"

"Absolutely."

"Hey! Aren't you supposed to make me feel better?"

"Not on your nelly. This stupid plan of his is probably going to get us all killed. I felt more optimistic going solo against the whole bloody hellmouth than I do about this."

"But you're Spike and Angel. You guys don't die."

"Ra ra ra," Spike said, pumping his fist weakly in the air. 

The hotel felt strangely large around her, their little spot in the kitchen quiet and at the centre of everything. This place was home, she realised. This was her place. Her castle. She didn't want it to change. She didn't want Spike to go off and fight the Big Fight. She didn't want Angel to go. Wesley or Gunn either. Hadn't they learned _anything_ after what had happened to Fred? Why couldn't they just stick to dusting vampires and taking care of any easily slayed Monster of the Weeks that fate tossed into their path?

The thought of anything happening to Spike or Angel, to Gunn or Wesley, it just didn't seem real. Illyria, on the other hand, Cordelia was still pretty okay with the god-king marching off to her death.

"Here," Spike said. "If you're feeling that gloomy about it: any chance of granting a dying man's last request?"

"If it involves you and me doing anything horizontal or sweaty, the answer's an emphatic no."

"We can do it standing up if you like," he suggested helpfully.

Cordelia was pretty sure he was only doing it to take her mind off things -- not that he wouldn't jump on her in a heartbeat in the unlikely case she actually agreed -- but even with his best efforts, it didn't change what was going to happen come sundown. She rolled her eyes, trying to look pissed, but she didn't feel much like playing, and she was starting to think she wasn't all that great of an actress anyway.

"So this all happens tonight?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, his smile fading. "Tonight."

"And you're just sitting here with me, working on your sugar buzz, and waiting for the end?"

"Actually, I have a date with a spotlight and an angry crowd at five. But until then... yeah. That's pretty much what I'm doing."

Cordelia smiled bravely and raised her mug. Spike clinked and took a big swallow.

She reached over and wiped a smudge of pink marshmallow moustache off Spike's top lip with her thumb, letting Spike's surprised expression pass without comment. His skin was smooth and cool; his fingers restless and gentle with her when her hand found his on the table.


	19. Chapter 19

Spike announced it was time for him to leave with a cheerful everyday air that was sadder to Cordelia than anything else he could possibly have done at that moment. She hated that he was being normal, on this, the least normal of days. He refused to tell her the specifics of where he was headed for his secret rendezvous. He refused to make a big deal out of his departure. He refused to be sad.

She hugged him before he could leave, warm and tight, surprising them both. "Is it bad luck to tell you to be careful?" she asked, her cheek pressed against the leather of his duster.

"I don't think so," he said, and hugged back.

"Okay. Be careful. Come back alive."

"Undead."

"Animated. With all your parts attached."

"Which parts would that be exactly?" 

"The big, important parts."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Arms. Legs. Torso. Head. The rest is negotiable."

He held her for a long time. When he finally let go, he left her with a simple smile. He didn't say the words to make it a goodbye. There was nothing for Cordelia to do but watch him walk away without a backwards glance.

The Hyperion was big and quiet and empty without him, so she found herself wandering the hotel, aimless and lost in her thoughts. She ended up in an unused room at the far end of the building, looking out of a window, as high up in the hotel as she could go without braving the attic. She'd been drawn up there, wanting the view. She'd wanted to look out over the city and _see_.

This was where Angel found her. Anybody else would have called her name, or maybe tried her cell phone, but Angel just materialised behind her. She was pretty sure he'd sniffed her out, which was yet another check in the creepy column.

"Cordelia? What are you doing up here?"

He hovered in the doorway, and he'd spoken quietly, like he didn't want to startle her. She supposed this proved he was at least sometimes capable of the subtle art of almost not lurking.

She didn't know exactly how long she'd been standing there, motionless, her arms wrapped around her torso. "Nothing," she replied. "Just waiting for the world not to end."

"World keeps turning. Nothing we do is going to stop that."

"Yeah? Tell that to the Senior Partners."

Angel sighed and walked a little way into the room. "I guess you've been talking to Spike."

"At least he tells me what's going on."

Angel was quiet for a long time. Cordelia had to fight the urge to turn around and face him.

"Cordelia," he said eventually, "I'm sorry you got landed in the middle of my world. Especially here. Especially now. You didn't deserve that. You weren't ready for it."

Cordelia's stomach clenched. This was Angel's last day. His last hours, and, for whatever reason, he'd come here. Now he was apologising to her, yet again, for something that was never really his fault in the first place. She lifted her chin, and drew herself up straighter, hating herself a little, but not really knowing why or what to do about it.

"Yeah, I totally missed out on the orientation seminar," she said, keeping it light, because it was always easier that way.

"But I think you see."

"I see?"

"What's happening here. The things we have to do. I feel like... I feel like my whole life has led me here. I've done so much, Cordy. Little things. Big things. Good and bad and everything in between, but this feels like it, you know? This feels like the reason."

She could feel him right behind her. Not that she'd heard him move, but his voice was closer.

"So it was all an act?" she asked, still looking out the window, but no longer seeing the view, every part of her focused on Angel. "Your Mr Big Shot Evil Corporate Sell-Out thing was all for show?"

"Yeah," Angel said quietly.

"Can't say I'm disappointed."

"Me neither."

"You really think you're going to win tonight?"

There was another long silence.

"I don't think we can," he said. "Somebody once told me that the world doesn't work in spite of evil. It works with it. Because of it. It's just... this fight. Good and evil. I guess you can't have one without the other."

"Then what's the point?" She did turn around then, because she wanted to see his face. He sounded tired and unsure when she needed him to be larger than life, filled with absolute certainty about what they were about to do. She needed him to be sure so that she could put her faith in it too. "What's the point of any of it?"

"The point is... I'm tired of being played with. I'm tired of trying to live my life and just waiting for the next Big Evil to come along and screw everything up. The Good Guys are always on the defensive. I want to change that. This time it's my turn. It's our turn."

"Very dramatic, Braveheart, but you realise I could poke about seventeen different holes in your logic, right?"

"I'd be disappointed if you couldn't."

She smiled a little, and sighed. "Your crazy is starting to rub off on me, you know that? I mean, I can't imagine my life here. Being in the middle of all of this every day. Fighting at your side, part of the team. But... I still want to be here. Being completely useless. How stupid is that? I may as well dust off my cheerleading outfit and pompoms."

"You did good here. You kept us on track. You saved me and everybody else more than once. Never doubt that."

"Yeah, well, things are different now. I'm kind of seeing how stupid I am about pretty much everything."

"You're not stupid."

"Sure I am. I mean, I look at you and you want to know my gut reaction? Yummy, here comes the hotness. Then, right on its heels: crappy, here comes the vampire."

"Actually, both those reactions are pretty--"

"I'm stupid. I get it, okay? I'm young and stupid. And it's totally sucking all the joy out of everything. Even shopping! Do you have any idea what that's like for me? I mean, really, do you have the slightest clue?"

"You're just--"

"Do not say 'making progress' and do not say 'getting with the programme'. Do not say it."

He smiled, one of the rare toothy ones, open and warm, and she wasn't expecting it. She couldn't deal with the weird tight feeling in her chest, so she scowled at him instead, and folded her arms, feeling all kinds of petulant.

"I was going to say 'growing'," he said. "It's okay to be young, Cordy. We've all been young once."

"Yeah, like a bazillion years ago."

"Or a couple of months. Depends on your perspective."

"I guess. But, hey, you never know, maybe I'll see something that'll help you tonight. That's why I stuck around in the first place, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe I'll have a vision. A last minute helping hand from the Powers That Be."

Angel blinked a couple of times. "You... what?"

"Visions," she repeated. "Me visiony. You fighty. That's how it worked before, right?"

Angel frowned. "Yeah, pretty much. You were my-- Cordy, did Spike tell you about the visions?"

"He pretty much had to after I had one, yeah."

Angel's eyes widened, and for just a second he looked unaccountably sad. "Oh, god. You're still-- Cordy, are you okay? Did you-- Do you need anything?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. I'm fine." She shifted her weight. "I could've lived without the pain and misery, but I saw... There was... There was this thing. This vampire thing. But we took care of it." She shrugged. "Okay, so Spike took care of it and I mostly hid in the shadows, but there was a girl. Her name was Anne. And we saved her."

"Spike. He--" Angel pressed his lips together and nodded, his eyes on the floor. "That's good. I'm glad."

"Yeah," she said, and continued brightly, "so I say: you work on the whole 'world not ending' thing, and when that's done, how about we get these visions out of me, and pass them on to somebody else who knows how to deal with them. Sound good?"

"How about we get started on that first thing tomorrow."

"Yeah. I thought you might say that. I don't think I'll start holding my breath."

Angel sighed softly and just looked at her, long enough that Cordelia felt like fidgeting under his gaze, wanting to get to a mirror to make sure her hair was okay, and that she didn't have spinach in her teeth.

He held out his hand. "Will you come with me?"

She eyed his hand like she didn't quite trust it, but he looked so sincere, so damn hopeful, that she found herself taking it. His skin was cool and softer than she'd been expecting, his hand large and strong, and she took comfort from the squeeze he gave her.

"Where to?" she asked.

"For a drive. I don't have much time, but there's somewhere I'd like to take you."

 

\---

 

Somewhere turned out to be the beach. Angel parked the Viper at the edge of the road on a sandy grass verge on an incline with a great view of the beach below. There were no other cars nearby, and she had to admit the view was pretty spectacular.

"I, uh, can't get out of the car. Sorry." He gestured to the sun, hanging low in the sky. "I'd have brought you later, but I'm meeting with the others a little after sunset so we can--"

She held up a hand. "I've got an idea. How about we don't talk about impending doom for the next half an hour."

Angel nodded; his hands still on the wheel.

"Can I open the window?"

Angel glanced at the angle of the sun and nodded again, so she cracked the window and breathed deep, enjoying the salty tang of the ocean and the sound of distant waves below.

"It's pretty here," she said. "But I didn't exactly take you for a sunsets and long walks on the beach kinda guy."

Angel stared out at the water, watching the shifting reflection of the sun through the car's necro-tempered glass. The soft amber glow on his face looked strange, off balance somehow. It made him look alive.

"Yeah. I always liked it out here," he said. "Even after..." He lowered his head, watching his hands shift on the wheel. "I feel like I can breathe out here."

"Angel, I know this is-- I mean, is there... is there anything I can do? I'm only really good for bringing supplies and running away, that was usually my job in Sunnydale, but if you need me to drive anyone anyplace..." She smiled sadly. "Pretty lame offer, huh?"

"No, it's not. It's good that you offered."

"I could do other stuff. You've been teaching me to fight for a reason, right?"

"No," he said, low and firm, and it was enough to stop her in her tracks. "Don't feel like you have to put yourself at risk, Cordelia. You're not ready for anything like that."

"Yeah, but I could--"

"Having you there would only be a distraction," he said more softly. "I can't have any distractions tonight."

Cordelia swallowed past the lump in her throat. "So why are you here with me now? Shouldn't you be making last minute plans or sharpening your favourite axe or something?"

"There's nothing more to be done."

"And you're spending your last hours with me?"

"Kind of trying not to think of them as my last hours."

"Yeah," she said, and it was all too much. He was still protecting her, in his own weird way, and he was just _sitting_ there, just waiting for the end to come. She realised with a pang that she'd given up on thinking that this was a fight that any of them were coming back from. "But you don't think you're going to come through this," she said, verging on a whisper, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "You're going to make your big, dumb last stand, and you don't think you're coming back."

Angel looked away, back out to the surf, to where the water was dyed orange and purple by the sun. "You know," he said quietly, "she would never admit it, but Illyria is grateful for what you did."

Cordelia recognised blatant subject avoidance when she heard it, but this was Angel's moment, so she was prepared to be gracious and let it slide. Besides, she was curious.

"What I did?"

"Yeah. I think you really caught her off guard, and I don't think Illyria's used to that."

"What? Being caught off guard or having people she's tried to kill do her a favour?"

Angel looked amused, and gave a tilt of his head that said probably both. 

"I didn't even do anything," Cordelia said. "That wasn't me. It was... _her_." She frowned. "The other me."

"That was all you, Cordy. You don't remember it, is all. You glued Illyria back together. You let her keep some of her strength, some of her dignity, when all we could have done was weaken her and humiliate her. Which, yes, she really deserved at the time, but... not to sound cold, but that's really going to come in handy in this fight."

"You trust her? Knowing what she is?"

"I think so. I think you went a long way towards showing her that we were worth trusting. It's hard for her, but she's coming to terms with how things are."

"Bully for her," Cordelia said, her voice trailing off into nothing. Angel didn't answer. He just watched the churning waves below, the sun finally dipping low enough to touch the water.

The drive back to the Hyperion passed in silence. The end was fast approaching, and Cordelia was helpless in the face of it. She couldn't have spoken if she wanted to. He throat ached with unshed tears, and the only thing letting her hold it all together was her silence, which sucked. Silence had never sat well with Cordelia.

It was all too damn final for her liking. This wasn't like the heat of the battle she was used to in Sunnydale, everyone running on adrenaline and necessity. This was all too planned, too premeditated. Everyone was just accepting their fate, knowing they were going to their deaths and doing it anyway, heads held high, no take-backs. All because it was the right thing to do. 

And Cordelia hated it.

All too soon they pulled up outside the hotel. She unfastened her seatbelt but didn't make a move to get out of the car. They didn't look at one other, and the only sound was the gentle idling of the engine.

All it took was Angel saying her name, soft and uncertain, and the world blurred.

"Cordy... I just. I wanted to tell you. You haven't learnt what you're capable of yet. I've watched you grow into an amazing woman in your time here. That person, the person I knew, she's inside you now, just like she was then."

"Oh," she whispered. "That's..." A tear escaped and slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away. "Stupid." She tried to smile through it, but it was a weak attempt at best. "Don't even know why I'm crying."

"If I could I'd be here with you. You know that, right?"

"But you have to go save the world."

He smiled sadly. "It kind of eats into your personal life."

She had to get out. She knew in her heart that it was running away, but what did they all expect? She'd had to say goodbye to her friends today, all the people who knew her best in the world. Wesley and Gunn were being just as freakishly, horribly calm as Spike and Angel about the whole thing, and she just didn't think she could keep up the strong and supportive veneer any longer.

It seemed like every year the world ended, every year it was her friends who stopped it from happening, who sacrificed everything to hold it together, and every year she was at ground zero. Somehow this was her life.

She opened the door, fumbling with the handle, and got out of the car, dizzy and scared and miserable. She got a dozen steps away from the car before she paused. All she wanted to do was keep running, but if she left it like this, if the last thing she ever gave Angel was the sight of her fleeing to safety, she knew she would never forgive herself.

"Hey, Angel?"

He was watching her from the car, unreadable, his eyes in shadow. Angel always managed to find the shadows to hide in.

"Graduation," she said, ignoring the tremor in her voice. "I'm guessing that we beat the mayor?"

"Kicked his ass. And blew up the school in the process."

"Really?" She laughed, surprising herself, because the thought of Sunnydale High blowing sky high was just too delightful. "And did you... did you happen to make it to the prom?"

"I made an appearance."

"How did I look? I mean I know you were probably there with Buffy, but did you happen to see--"

"I saw. You looked... breath-taking."

"Says the man with no breath."

"You know once upon a time you used to be able to take a compliment."

"I bet I used to be able to do a lot of things." Her smile wobbled and faded. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

It wasn't fair to ask. It was maybe even cruel. She knew that. But she didn't care. All she wanted for him to do was say yes. To say those six magic words: _everything is going to be okay._

Instead, Angel said goodbye. He made it simple, made it final, letting it say all the things he didn't have the words for.

She stood at the door of the Hyperion and watched him drive away into the new night, wondering if she'd ever see him again. Wondering what Spike was doing, if he'd be okay. If Lorne was still so full of doubt. If Gunn had his gameface on, if he felt trusted by his friends, if was ready for what was to come. If Wesley was sober, if he even cared if they won or lost tonight, or if his eyes were still dead and empty.

It was just as Angel's car turned the corner and disappeared that her vision hit.

Cordelia stumbled, her eyes wide and unseeing as her world turned to shocking white pain. Her knees hit the asphalt, but the jolt of impact was nothing, dull and far away compared to the bright flashes of what was to come sparking through her head. This was worse, so much worse, than the vision that had come before. This was fear and pain-horror-emptiness and watching one of her friends die.

One hand pressed to her temple, her knuckles scraped and bruised from her fall, Cordelia managed to locate her cell phone and dial Wesley's number. He wasn't picking up. She thought about calling Angel. She thought about calling Spike or Gunn. Shaking and trying her damnedest not to start sobbing, she instead called one of the numbers Angel had given her weeks ago. When the sleek black Wolfram & Hart car arrived moments later, she accepted the driver's helping hand and slumped in the back seat, telling him to take her straight to the Wolfram & Hart building.

She hit redial over and over to all the numbers she had for Wesley, but there was no answer on any of them. She threw her phone as hard as she could at the door, swearing loudly when it bounced off and hit her sharply on the knee. The End of Days was actually _here_ and Wesley wasn't picking up his calls? There was no dimension where that sounded like good planning. She pressed her fist to her lips and tried to ignore the throbbing behind her temples as she watched the scenery pass by, buildings and cars and people and life. Normal everyday things.

In the distance, between buildings, behind the clutter of L.A., she caught occasional glimpses of the sun slipping further below the horizon. She knocked rapidly on the glass partition and asked the driver to go faster. 

She had to talk to Wesley.


	20. Chapter 20

She found Wesley in his office, sitting quietly in the shadows and staring blankly at the wall. Outside his window, the sunset turned the sky to burnt orange, brown and red, the light scattered and vivid in the layers of smog, backlighting the city. Cordelia's presence slowly filtered into his consciousness and he looked her way.

"Cordelia. What are you doing here?"

He didn't sound curious, or worried, or scared, or angry, or any of the hundred and one things Cordelia thought he should have been feeling. That suited her just fine, because she was perfectly happy to feel them all for him.

"Don't you ever answer your phone? Maybe when somebody calls you fifty times, you think maybe there might be a damn good reason?"

"Sorry," he said. "Big day. Little preoccupied."

He looked beyond miserable, beyond tired. He looked resigned to his fate.

"Wes, I came because I had a vision. About you. You really need to hear it."

She'd _felt_ it, like a punch to the stomach, when she'd seen Cyvus Vail stab him. She'd known Wesley inside that moment: his insurmountable pain, his betrayal, his sense of worthlessness and black despair.

He barely reacted when she laid it all out for him, stumbling over her words, telling him exactly what she'd seen in her vision. Telling him why he couldn't go tonight, why he had to change his plans.

"Oh," Wesley said when she'd finished. "Really?"

" _Really_."

"Oh," he said again, his eyes the only part of him that moved, shifting around restlessly. "Terrible pity you didn't have a vision sooner. Perhaps about Fred touching that sarcophagus."

Cordelia had to struggle with her words for a second, disbelief clogging her throat. "It's not like I can control them! What's _wrong_ with you, Wesley? I know you're hurting, but you can't just sit here and--"

"Hurting? Cordelia, frankly, you don't know the meaning of the word."

"I cannot _believe_ you guys. Any of you. This place is like... cancer! It's like... eating you all up from the inside. I don't get it." She threw her hands in the air. "I just don't get it."

"You weren't supposed to. You were never supposed to be here, Cordelia. You don't fit."

"Tell me about it. I kept waiting for my big scene."

"Scene?"

"You know. The one where I wake up and it was all just a dream? But nobody had me on their to-do list, so here I am, back from the dead or schmoozing the Higher Beings, or wherever the hell I was."

"Yes," he said quietly. "You came back." He breathed in, deep and slow, and rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses. There was a long moment, bereft of movement, then he was abruptly on his feet, lifting weapons seemingly at random off his desk, gearing up for the night's activities. "So he kills me?"

"Yes," she said, her head aching, everything awful and backwards and wrong.

"And then?"

"Then Illyria shows up and tears him a new one." She grimaced. "Kinda literally."

He paused, halfway through buckling on one of his retractable wrist blades. "And she finishes the job?"

"Yeah, sure. While you're bleeding out on the _floor_."

He nodded, and went back to his buckle. "Thank you for coming to tell me."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"In terms of not getting dead? You'll change your game plan, right? Get somebody else to take care of him? Let Illyria pick up the slack?"

Wesley examined a switchblade, testing its edge with his thumb before tucking it away into his belt. "Of course," he said. His fingertips brushed over a thick manila envelope on his desk, back and forth, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. "You, ah, you won't mention this to Angel, will you? He has enough on his plate for one evening. I don't want to be a distraction."

"A distraction? Yeah, boo hoo, poor Angel. I don't know about you, but I'm finding all this pretty freaking distracting."

"I'll take care of it, Cordelia. Just promise me."

"Yeah, right, I'll take your word for it that you're going to be careful, because I don't think for one second that you're going to go off and do something totally stupid and heroic and dumb, and get yourself killed over something that's completely--"

"Cordelia."

"Okay, fine. Whatever. I promise."

Wesley's grim expression didn't change. "Does it help?" he asked.

"Does what help?"

"Getting it off your chest. What you've seen. Does it make the pain any less?"

"Some. It kind of eases the tension headache, if that's what you mean. Better than a hit of Advil any day."

Wesley regarded her closely. "You'd best speak with Angel about that when everything is... when the dust settles. The visions weren't kind to you before, Cordelia. You should be a little more proactive in dealing with them this time."

"Jeez. Thank you for the ominous update."

He nodded -- a gesture of commiseration, of thanks, of understanding, perhaps of regret -- and went back to his weapons. "Thank you for coming, Cordelia. I'll take it under advisement."

"Under...? Did you hear any tiny part of what I just told you?"

"I heard you. You need to leave here now. This isn't somewhere you want to be. You really shouldn't have left the hotel."

"But I don't see--"

"Cordelia." His voice was low and firm, leaving no room for argument. "It's time to go. It's not safe here."

He wasn't even looking at her, and she felt that familiar pang of dismissal, of not being where she was supposed to be, a child in the world of adults.

"Fine," she whispered, wanting nothing more than for this nightmare to be over. She was almost at the door, just trying to hold it all together, when his voice stopped her.

"You know..." he began, sounding hesitant. "You were the only one."

She glanced back, and there was a spark of the old him, softer and more _Wesley_ in the way he was looking at her. 

"The only one what?"

"The only one who never let me down."

"I didn't?"

"Never. Not even once. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome," she said, and smiled unevenly, not really understanding, but wishing more than ever before that she did.

 

\---

 

There had to have been more she could have done. Preferably without actually getting her hands dirty, or cut off or whatever, but there had to have been more. Like getting them all to change their minds and not be so happy to march off to a matching set of early graves. Instead she was left feeling guilty because she was doing precisely what everyone had told her to do: going back to the hotel, being safe, not being a distraction.

She left the Wolfram & Hart buildings without incident. The Hyperion was big and quiet and empty. There was nothing left to do but wait. She didn't bother attempting to sleep. She cleaned up her grazed knuckles and put a little ointment on them. She made cups of coffee and hot chocolate then didn't drink them. She went through the boxes of her old things, things she didn't remember ever owning. It was like she was looking at a stranger's possessions, looking at photos of her older self that she knew she would never remember, never experience. 

She wandered the hotel, opening doors at random. She found a room with about a dozen axes and swords lying neatly arranged on a bare mattress. She found a room with what looked like a dismantled crib and a lot of broken furniture. Yet another with an actual stack of actual demon heads in the corner of the room. That door got closed quickly. And everywhere she went, there was yet more of the ugliest wallpaper she'd ever laid eyes on.

She nosed around Angel's office, not snooping exactly, just looking, and found a drawer full of old documents, old receipts and invoices, plus the deeds to the hotel with Angel's name on them, signed over by one Lilah Morgan, who'd signed her name with pretty loops and swirls. She also found an old set of floor plans. She spread them out on Angel's desk. The building had one hundred and twenty-seven rooms, not including basements, the attic, an actual swimming pool, a small restaurant, and even a ballroom at the far end of the building. The scale of the place, the clever design with rooms tucked away in odd places making the most of the available floor space was pretty amazing.

None of it held her attention for long.

She went back to wandering aimlessly. It was only hours, but it felt like days of endless waiting. She started to wonder what would happen if nobody came back come sun up. If she'd be alone and lost -- end of the world, last girl standing -- never knowing what had happened to her friends.

She thought, belatedly, that they might need medical supplies, more than the admittedly impressive first aid kit had to offer. They might need blood, or blankets and hot water. Something for when they got back. Something she should have thought of earlier.

If they got back.

At around four in the morning the heavens opened and it started to rain.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should mention that I haven't read the comics, and know very little about what happens in them, so everything from here on out is all me, baby.

Dramatic to the end, it was mere minutes before sunrise -- the sky already light through the breaking clouds, birds long since up and awake and chirping in a very non-apocalyptic way -- when Angel burst in through the main doors of the hotel. Spike stumbled in after him, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. They were both soaked to the skin and covered in blood. Even Illyria, bringing up the rear, looked like she'd had a rough evening. Her hair was wet and tangled, her skin mottled with purple-blue bruises, and one eye was bloodshot: a dark blue starburst around her pupil giving her a glassy, off-kilter look. She held her arm to her chest like a broken wing.

Cordelia was lifted to her feet by her sudden spike of adrenaline, wringing her hands in front of her. "Oh, thank god. You're back. What happened? Did we win? We won, right?"

Spike slumped on the first couch he came to. He fished out a hipflask from one of his pockets, and took a long, hard swallow.

"Spike?" she asked, because Spike was her answers guy. "What happened?"

"We went to work."

"And?"

"Job done. For the moment. We live to fight another day."

"And you're all okay?" she asked, the beginnings of a tentative smile blossoming on her face. "Gunn. Wesley. They're coming, right? They're both--"

"No, luv. I'm afraid not."

Her smile shrivelled up and died. She looked at each of them in turn, not wanting to buy into the serious looks she was getting. "What happened? Where's Wesley? Where's Gunn?"

Angel stood by the reception desk, gripping its edge. "They're gone," he said quietly.

"Gone? Gone where?" Panic built steadily inside her with every second Angel didn't reply. In the end, it was Illyria who spoke up.

"They're dead," she said. "Their lives laid down in battle to try and give some meaning to their existence. Meaningless, and yet..." She stood in the middle of the lobby, looking small and alone. "I am without my compass. Who will guide me now?"

"Wesley's... You mean he's... dead?" Cordelia's eyes filled with tears, looking back and forth rapidly between Angel and Spike. "But he can't be. I told him... Why didn't he listen to me? How could you let this happen? Why didn't you save him?"

Angel still had his back to the room, his shoulders hunched. He turned to face them. "I did what I could. Everybody knew the risks in what we were doing. Wesley gave his life for the mission."

"But how could you? Not Wesley. You could have found someone else to take his place. You're the hero, right? You're the champion. Why didn't you get Buffy to come and help you, or someone else who actually knew what they were doing?"

"There was no one else!" Angel yelled, his voice cracking. "No one else who was prepared to do what needed to be done, and no one more capable of doing it."

"But I told him what was going to... And he..." Her gaze fell on Illyria. "And you still let him die."

"Let me tell you something. You don't know Wesley."

"That's not true. We--"

"You never knew him. Not really. He came here and the two of you became the greatest of friends. More than that, you were family. But from where you stand right now? You don't have the slightest clue of the man he was. You never knew him at all. So don't stand there and blame me for his death, because I've lost more today that you have any conception of. Are we clear?"

Cordelia opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"Good," Angel spat. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in my room." He got as far as the first stair, then stopped with his hand on the banister and heaved a deep, shuddering breath. He looked back at Spike. "You need some help?"

For a fleeting moment, it looked like Spike would sneer, just like always, and toss out an easy dismissal. Instead he hesitated, then nodded, a testament to the bad condition he was in. He accepted Angel's hand to pull him up off the couch, wrapping an arm around Angel's shoulders as Angel slipped his arm around Spike's waist under his duster. Angel gave the same offer to Illyria with a look, but she curled her lip and shook her head.

Cordelia caught Spike's eye and sent him a silent plea, but to her surprise, Spike only gave her a sad smile and followed Angel's lead. Together Spike and Angel slowly mounted the stairs and disappeared into the hotel, leaving Cordelia alone with her grief and a small, bedraggled god-king.

There was an uncomfortable silence left in their wake. Cordelia looked around the lobby, realising that nothing that had happened today had much to do with her. That she had lost a lot more than she had realised with those few missing years. And for the first time, she wanted them back. 

Illyria hadn't moved, but was watching her closely, wearing a soft expression Cordelia had never before seen on her face.

Hesitantly, she said, "Fred?"

Illyria tilted her head and the spell was broken. "Fred is destroyed. This is not news. Your words are uninformed and wasteful." Illyria cast her gaze over the interior of the lobby. "A new box. The shell enjoyed this place. It was her salvation and, in turn, the death of her." She started for the stairs. Cordelia followed her, at a loss for anything else to do, but stopped dead when Illyria announced, "I wish for neither counsel nor attendance. Do not presume to follow."

Cordelia hadn't been planning on providing either, but it still burned. This was _her_ place. She'd been staying here long enough that it felt like home. She'd got used to having Spike around, but now she realised that there would be two more battle-weary and highly irritating immortals living under her roof.

This could take some getting used to.

She waited at the foot of the stairs, trying not to look like she was doing what she was told, trying even harder not to think about Wesley and why the hell he hadn't done more to protect himself. She'd told him, actually given him a gold-plated heads up, and _still_ he hadn't managed to do a simple little thing like not get himself killed.

When she was sure Illyria was gone and the coast was clear, she went up into the hotel, going silently to Spike's door. She knocked gently. When there was no answer after the second attempt, she let herself in, ignoring the hammering of her heart, expecting terrible things. He could be in there with Angel, whom Cordelia really didn't want to face again so soon. He could want to be alone. He could want her -- her specifically -- to be far away from him. Worst case scenario was Spike bleeding out, only ash and silence waiting for her on the other side of the door.

Instead she found him propped up awkwardly in bed, his head tipped back against the pillows, eyes closed. The room was dim, only one small lamp lit in the corner, casting an amber glow, just enough for her to see by. He still had his jeans and boots on, but his duster had been tossed into the armchair in the corner, and his t-shirt was on the floor by the bed. There was a large, white bandage taped to his stomach. He had a cigarette dangling from his lip and an ashtray balanced on his thigh. Cordelia couldn't even come close to pretending she cared about the second-hand smoke right at that moment.

"Is it over?"

"Not by a long shot," he said, not opening his eyes.

"Tell me."

"The Black Thorn are all dead. Mission accomplished. 'Cept there's this demon army now."

"Demon army?"

"Mm. Nothing much to worry about. Couple of thousand, tops. Bit of havoc and mayhem. This is us regrouping. Licking our wounds. Mourning the dead. Living to run away another day."

"Are we safe here?"

"Safe as houses. Told you, nothing's getting past these wards."

Spike cracked open one eye and held out his hand. Cordelia took it gratefully, and she slipped onto the bed, quietly, carefully, like if they didn't acknowledge it, she wasn't doing it. She curled up along his side, and realised a little late that there was a whole lot of bare skin for her to be pressed up against. He still smelled a little like wet dog, his hair curling where the gel had been washed away by the rain, but underneath it all he smelled like Spike, familiar and good. Warmth settled in her bones, and a little of her tension lifted.

"What happened to Gunn?"

"Went out fighting. Died a hero."

"Was he... Did he...?"

"There were just too many of them and he was only human. He didn't suffer much, if that's what you're asking."

"God, it's not fair." She closed her eyes. If she'd seen Gunn in her vision instead of Wesley, maybe she could have done some good. Maybe Gunn would have listened, maybe he would have had enough left that was worth living for to actually give a damn about dying. "And what about Lorne?"

Spike took another deep drag and crushed out his cigarette. "Had a slight... crisis of faith. Think he's taking a little time off from Team Angel."

"Alone?"

"It's what he wants. He's been put through the wringer since hitching his little red wagon to Angel's Death Star. I don't blame him for wanting to get a little distance."

She turned her face into his shoulder and laid her hand on his chest, mindful of his injuries, wishing that he had on a shirt, something she could get hold of and _grip_. "I can't believe they're..."

Spike didn't say anything. He just shifted around a little, moving gingerly. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and set the ashtray out of harm's way on the bedside table.

"You're hurt," she said stupidly, trying to figure out how just how badly.

"Good thing I'm a vampire."

Near the corner of the bandage on his stomach, the end of the tape had come loose from his skin. She pressed gently on it, sticking it down. "Did Angel do this?"

"I've seen better bedside manners, but he's a right little Florence Nightingale when he puts his mind to it."

"Spike," she murmured. "What do we do now?"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and didn't reply.

She fell asleep there. Her dreams of pouring rain and burning buildings woke her once in the dim mid-morning to Spike's nose in her hair, his hand on her stomach, his blood on her clothes.


	22. Chapter 22

Angel sat in his old office, listening to the relative quiet of the hotel. The room should have been dark and peaceful, lit only by the muted sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains, but the constant flicker of the silent television sent shadows dancing as he flicked back and forth between the local news stations. They were all showing him scene after scene of devastation in the downtown area. Speculation was running wild over what appeared to be a giant lizard corpse, on fire, resisting any and all attempts by the fire department to put it out, and burning fiercely enough to be slowly melting its way through to the Metro Purple Line below. (Fox was the only station not covering the story. Angel wasn't surprised. They'd been clients of Wolfram & Hart for years. Considering how many demons they had on the payroll and the fact that their annual ceremony of blood sacrifice was coming up, they were probably choosing the path of least resistance and keeping their heads down.)

There was no footage of rampaging demon hordes, but Angel figured it was only a matter of time. Los Angeles had had too many close calls, too many public battles, too many demons walking amongst the human population, too many demon bars and vampire brothels, not to mention Wolfram & Hart, Jasmine's brief reign, fire raining from the sky and the sun itself being blotted out. The days of plausible deniability were fast becoming a thing of the past. Too many people knew too much. 

Angel had given up on trying to sleep after a couple of hours of staring blankly at the ceiling of his old bedroom, and he'd ended up here, back to old habits he thought he'd shaken off a long time ago. He'd spent a lot of time in that spot in the past, and in some ways it felt like he'd never left. In a lot of other ways, it felt like another life, an older and better life, because for all the hardships and heartaches he'd faced there in the past, none of it held a candle to the events of the last year. Back when they'd all lived there, back when the hotel had been busy with the bustle of his friends and family, and even before that, when he was still relearning how to live in their world, it was usually Cordelia who sought him out, who bullied him out of spending too much time alone in the dark. Much as it pained him to admit it, he missed it. He missed her. And it was so strange to miss someone who was right there in front of him, like he was wronging her somehow, but he was starting to think that this version of Cordelia could only resent him. She hadn't had the time to come to terms with her life here like she had the first time around. They hadn't had the quiet times together to become friends. He had an uncanny ability to lose his temper or say the wrong thing around her. He had no reason to assume that she was going to see him the same way this time around. They'd missed out on so much common ground he was starting to think he'd lost her, just like he'd lost so many others, just like he may very well have lost the city he'd promised to protect. 

There was an army, an actual army of demons out there, doing god alone knew what, and as far as Angel could see, it was all his fault. He was the one who had interrupted the status quo and brought it all crashing down around them. It had all seemed so noble at the time, like this was his reason for all those years he'd been walking the earth. All the good and all the bad he'd ever done, everything he was, all of it bringing him to this place and this time for this purpose. He was supposed to be the hero and yet his pride had brought yet more disaster to the city. He didn't find anything particularly heroic about bringing down the Black Thorn just to drag Los Angeles into hell.

It was just another fight with no end in sight, except now he no longer had the resources to do anything about it. He was already planning recon, wondering about the wisdom of stealth attacks, wondering if they could work the divide and conquer angle or if he was going to have to come up with something a little more creative. He wondered how safe they were in the hotel, and if the wards would hold against sustained attack if it came to that. He tried to figure their strengths and weaknesses, wondered how soon Spike and Illyria would be ready for battle, but he knew that the odds were stacked high and near impossible against them.

He glanced down at his hands, long since healed of any cuts or bruises, but as he flexed his fingers, there were still traces of Spike's blood in the tiny cracks of his skin, in the crease of a knuckle. Spike had bled all over him when Angel had bandaged him up, white-lipped and blessedly silent for once. The sight of the blood, the _scent_ of it, made Angel's gums tingle. Guilt tightened his chest as he raised his knuckle to his lips, hesitated, then ran his tongue over it. Spike had almost died. He'd come through so much in his unlife with that infuriating grin and a cocky swagger, even besting death itself, yet mere hours ago he had been inches from losing it all. The blade that had almost sliced him in two had been a blow just like a million others that Spike had blocked or ducked or dodged before. Being cut in half wouldn't necessarily kill a vampire, but it was enough to render one helpless enough to be easily finished off. They were immortal but they weren't invincible. You could be the fastest, the strongest, the very best at what you did, and all it took was for the other guy to have one good day, and it was game over. That was a lesson Angel had drummed into Spike a lifetime ago.

Angel thought of Wesley and Gunn, and thought what if, what if, what if the same thing had happened to Spike? But Spike was still there. Illyria and Cordelia were still there. There was no point dwelling on what ifs and maybes. It was just the four of them left, and there was no going back. Not now, not ever.

He didn't even know if he had the right to ask more of Spike and Illyria. He had no favours to call in, no handy Wolfram & Hart underlings to command, and he'd just lost half of the only group of people he could trust in this world to back him up.

Things were not looking good.

The sound of Cordelia's footsteps approaching the office door made him sit up a little straighter in his chair.

She slipped in through the door, looking miserable. "Angel, I need to talk to you."

She smelled like Spike. She was covered in him. They all needed comfort right now, and if Cordelia and Spike happened to find theirs together, so be it. After all, Angel had only just got through with telling himself why he and Cordelia needed a little breathing room, but still it burned.

She didn't sit, choosing instead to stand in front of his desk wringing her hands together, and it was all a little too reminiscent of his time spent as CEO of Wolfram & Hart for his liking. She'd had a vision, she explained, her words tumbling out on top of each other. A vision about Wesley. She'd seen his death before it had happened and she'd told him what was to come. And Wesley, foolish, broken Wesley, hadn't done a damn thing to stop it. He'd played his part in bringing down the Black Thorn, he'd got the job done, but when the end came... he'd just let it happen.

"He-he told me not to tell you, so I figured that he had it taken care of. Stupid, but I just never thought he'd... I guess none of that matters now. I just wanted you to know."

Angel closed his eyes, trying to figure out how it had all gone so badly wrong. "Cordelia, it wasn't your fault. You hear me? Wesley was his own man. He made his own decisions. I think maybe he'd just had enough."

"Things were really that bad?"

Angel's throat ached. Wesley had lost so much. He'd been pushed so far. So many mistakes had been made. Maybe if Wesley had thought he'd ever be able to come back from it, he would have done things differently. It broke Angel's heart to think that things were so far gone that this was Wesley's only way out.

Angel knew he should have been saying comforting things, but he just couldn't get the words out. He didn't know where to start and he knew Cordelia could see it in him. There were tears in her eyes and she was fighting it. There'd been too much crying recently, too much sadness and arguing, and Angel was tired of it. It was so much easier to go to her and pull her into a hug and try not to embarrass himself with relief when she pushed her face into his chest and let him hold her.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

"What for?"

"For everything. For what I said about Wesley. This morning, I mean. It's not true. He loved you. He loved you very much."

"Don't. Oh, god, Angel. Please, just don't. I can't."

"Cordy. Cordelia. Don't cry."

"I can't help it. I can't stop. I hate it here. I hate this life. It's too hard. It's too horrible. I just feel so useless."

"You're not. You're good. You just miss your friends." 

"That's just it. I know they were good people, and I could see that they loved me. But I barely knew them, like you said. There was so much pain before they died and I didn't do anything to help. I didn't even know where to start. I know that I'm missing the big picture. I know that they deserve more from me than the little I can remember. I just... I just..." 

She trailed off, overwhelmed and lost. He held her face gently in his hands, brushing her tears away with his thumbs. She glanced up at him, her gaze unsure, her lashes clumped together with tears.

"Angel?"

He hushed her, murmuring soft reassurances, his touch reverent on her skin. They were close enough that he could taste her breath, feel the heat from her skin and the rhythm of her heart. He wanted to wrap her up, protect her, and keep her close to him always. 

"I'll help you," he whispered. "We got through this before. You and me. I'll never leave you alone, and I won't let anything else hurt you. I promise."

"You're so serious."

"Of course I'm serious. I... I love you." Her eyes widened and Angel swore he could feel his heart thump in his chest. "I'm tired of not telling you that. Really tired of not being able to... I love you, Cordy. So much."

She looked up at him, blinking through her tears. "You do?"

"Yes." His touch had stilled. He was just holding her face now, his fingers damp with her tears. The draw to her was a slow and steady pull in his chest. "For a long time now."

"Oh," she breathed, and her eyes drifted closed as he kissed her. Her mouth was soft and wet and warm, bitter with saltwater, sweet underneath it all. Angel loved the taste of her. He felt like he could do this forever.

He kept the kiss as chaste as he could, though the temptation was there to lose himself in it. He drew back to gauge her reaction, terrified that he'd overstepped another of their shaky boundaries. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing shallow as she drew her lower lip into her mouth, running her tongue over it. 

"Salty goodness," she murmured.

"Cordy?"

"I'm here." She opened her eyes. "You really weren't kidding."

"No. I really wasn't kidding."

"But I..." Something changed. He didn't know what it was, but he could see it like a sudden shock of realisation in her eyes and a change in her manner. "I have to go," she said quickly.

"What? But..." She extricated herself from his embrace and hurried away. Every part of him told him to hold on tight and not let her go, but he crushed it down deep within himself. "Why?" he called after her.

Angel was halfway out of the room after her before he made himself stop. He shouldn't have kissed her. He shouldn't have forced her hand. He'd always been a sucker for women in tears, but he should have known better. He cursed himself for giving in to temptation, for seeking comfort, for his deplorable timing, for letting his weaknesses rule his actions, but he couldn't quite find it within himself to actually regret it. 

He licked his lips, still able to taste her there.

He wondered if he'd only gone and made things worse. He wondered if she'd fled back to Spike. He wondered how he'd managed to find the one thing that could knock the threat of an invading demon army down to the second most pressing issue on his to-do list, and then still manage to screw it up.

He poured himself a large measure of scotch from the half-empty bottle in his desk drawer and went back to brooding in the dark, with only the television for company, uncertain of what the encroaching night would bring.


	23. Chapter 23

Angel was being even more of a grumpy sod than usual, but after everything that had happened Spike couldn't really blame him. There was always the chance he might forget himself occasionally around Cordelia and crack a smile, but there was a lot of weight being carried around on those hulking shoulders. 

They were out in the city, doing the creature of the night thing, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the dead of night, keeping their heads down and seeing how the land lay. 

"Stay put. I'll be right back," Angel said, and disappeared off the edge of the roof they were standing on.

Spike opened his mouth to argue, and then thought better of it. He was in no small amount of pain, so perhaps a little less of the leaping from rooftop to rooftop thing was in order. He was pretty sure he'd torn his stitches again, but if Angel was able to smell his blood he'd made no mention of it. 

Spike rested his shoulder against the face of a poor excuse for a gargoyle perched on the lip of the building. The gargoyle couldn't have been more than fifty or sixty years old, but it was crafted out of concrete and its features were already fading. Spike sniffed. No sense of craftsmanship. Sometimes he really hated America. 

He peered over the lip of the building, looking down at the city below. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary and no clue as to what it was Angel had caught a whiff of. The area they were in, the streets were a mess, covered in debris with abandoned vehicles everywhere, one or two of them still on fire, but there was no sign of movement. No demons, which could only ever be a good thing, but no humans either. This wasn't like Sunnydale: there hadn't been warning enough for a mass exodus out of the city before the trouble started, but at least the people who'd been left behind were keeping off the streets. Spike only hoped that the reporters had given up on trying to do their reporting from ground level, and he hadn't seen too much air traffic since that CNN helicopter had been taken down by a giant spear made from what looked like old demon bones. As for police or army, Angel had said that before the TV had become two hundred channels of static, he'd seen that the emergency services had been pulled out and they had the city surrounded, but there had been no order given to set foot inside the city limits. 

Something about raining fire and biting off more than they could chew. 

Spike curled his lip. More like cooling their heels and doing a whole lot of nothing.

"We remain outnumbered," Illyria said, interrupting his thoughts as she stepped out of thin air. It was a very impressive manoeuvre. Spike hadn't known she was anywhere near him. She moved like a cat and it was as though she could mask her scent -- an odd but not unpleasant combination of old leather and honeysuckle -- whenever she felt like it. Spike wasn't used to being snuck up on. "Angel is a poor excuse for a leader."

Spike sighed. "Why so this time?"

"We waste time hiding and spying from the shadows when there is yet more violence to be had."

He jammed his fists into the pockets of his duster. "It's called recon, luv. Look it up."

"I am familiar with the term."

"Of course you are. Great military leader and all that." 

Spike stepped off the side of the building to land with a faint clang on the fire escape several storeys down. The impact of landing told him that, yes, he most definitely had torn his stitches, and he took a moment to grit his teeth, light a cigarette, and wait for the pain to subside. No sense in looking weaker than he had to in front of a lady.

The tobacco caught and he filled his lungs with smoke. He was bored and frustrated and pissed off and kind of worried, not to mention the teensiest bit scared. Moreover, he didn't like not knowing what Angel was up to. It would be just like Angel to find another dragon or something else with scales and wings and several rows of very sharp teeth and try and take it out by all by himself.

Spike didn't like being out of touch. Cell phone reception was sporadic at best, and not working at all in some areas of the city, this being one of them, so the next meeting they had -- or, okay, the very first meeting they had where tactics actually got discussed -- Spike was definitely suggesting walkie talkies. Or whatever was more high tech these days. 

He gingerly made his way down the fire escape to street level, only to find Illyria standing waiting for him.

"Seriously, how do you _do_ that?"

Illyria glanced up the side of the building, her eyes the only part of her that moved, then met his gaze again.

"Did you jump?" he asked. "Did you fucking _fly_? Because, gotta tell you, I'm a vampire and I can't hear you sneaking around." He pushed back his shoulders. "It's unnerving."

Illyria whipped her head around, looking off into the distance. Spike heard it a split second later. A vehicle was approaching. Something bigger than a car, and it was headed their way, fast.

Spike cursed his bad fortune. God only knew who was foolish enough to be driving around in the city at night. It was likely to be a foolhardy human, but it wouldn't have been the first time he'd seen a demon behind the wheel of a car.

A black van screeched around the corner, heading right for them.

There was nowhere to hide, and the only place to take cover was behind a nearby overturned SUV. He grabbed Illyria by the arm and dragged her with him, hoping like hell she wouldn't take umbrage and tear off his hand for daring to touch her without her express permission.

The van lurched to a halt beside them and the passenger door opened. The van sat there, the engine still running. Spike caught the familiar scent of human fear mixed with the faint scent of _Angel_ , and his tension eased. He peeked out from behind the SUV to see Angel behind the wheel, peering out, one eyebrow bloodied. There was a long moment where they just looked at one another, Angel with his hands still on the wheel.

Angel pressed his lips together like he was waiting for something. "Please tell me you're not going to just stand there and stare at me all night."

"Right," Spike said, realising that whatever this was, a little hustle was probably called for. He hopped into the van and Illyria wordlessly climbed in after him. Angel immediately drove off, not waiting for Illyria to close the door, and the momentum of the van slammed it shut. Spike squirmed in his seat. His thigh was pressed up against Angel's and he'd foolishly let Illyria nab the window seat. The front seat dynamics were all off. He didn't like it one little bit, but it was too late to do anything about it. 

He glanced over his shoulder and saw a dozen huddled humans in the back of the van, all of them watching him. They seemed suitably wary of him and no one spoke. The scent of fear and old sweat was thick in the enclosed space. Spike faced forward and squinted through the windscreen.

"So," he said. "How did your recon go?"

Angel took a hard right. "It got a little more hands on."

"Huh," Spike said. "Tell me you're not bringing this lot back to the hotel. Cordelia'll have your guts for garters."

"No, she wouldn't. And no, we're not going to the hotel. We're getting them out of the city."

"Is that wise?"

"You think they'll be better off if they stay?"

Spike frowned, but he let it go. 

Illyria cracked the window and the breeze lifted a lock of her hair. "His leadership is perhaps not totally without merit," she said, staring out at the city rushing past.

Spike smirked and started fiddling with the radio. He gave up when all he could find was static. Illyria opened the glove-box and took out an unlabelled cassette tape. She held it between finger and thumb, examining it, then pushed it into the tape deck. 

_I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord. Well, I've been waiting for this moment for--"_

Spike quickly hit the eject button.

"So, where are we taking them?" he asked Angel.

"City limits. The demons are more or less keeping to the boundary of L.A. These people should be safe after that. There'll be help for them there."

Spike nodded, wondering how much of that was true and how much was wishful thinking, wondering if the demons were likely to just let their little group of humans just waltz out of the city without a fight, wondering if Angel was planning on giving them the van, and just how much of a bitch it was going to be to get back to the hotel before sunup without transport, especially with the way his stomach and ribs were aching. 

But least they were doing _something_. In a city of millions, they had a dozen lost souls in the back of a stolen van. It was something.

"We need to do more, Spike."

Spike nodded, wondering if Angel had suddenly turned into a mind-reader. He stared out at the night. Sure they needed to do more. The question was: what?

 

\---

 

"You _walked_ back?" Cordelia asked, rushing over with a mammoth first aid kit under her arm. "The sun's going to be up in about three seconds, I've had zero sleep, there's still an army of demons out there, and what I really can't figure out is: are you guys freaking _nuts_?"

"We had a van," Angel said, "but there was a demon, y'see, and the van kind of... fell into the sewers."

"Then there was a school bus," Spike added. "That lasted a goodly while but the axel didn't hold up. The roads are in a shocking state," he said, shaking his head. 

"You do have a car, you know," Cordelia said.

"Which we couldn't fit all the people in," Angel said.

"Look, we're back, aren't we?" Spike said, crushing out his cigarette underfoot and knowing with absolute certainty that even though Angel had his hands full of semi-conscious Illyria, he was sure to be scowling about his ancient mouldy old carpet behind Spike's back. "All in one piece."

Cordelia pulled back his duster and gasped at the blood seeping through his shirt. "Yeah, sure. One piece with a whole lot of holes poked in it."

"It's nothing," he said, taking in her mussed hair and the dark circles under her eyes. "Give me a couple of bandages and I'll tape it up myself."

"But you're--"

"Still a vampire, last time I checked. Wound went deep so it's taking a bit longer to heal," he said, not mentioning how he was pretty sure the blade had been millimetres from taking out his spine, "but I'll be fine. We always are." He lowered his voice. "There were people, Delia. We got them out of the city. This is just... collateral damage or whatever." Cordelia nodded, white-lipped, as Spike started to undo his buttons with numb fingers. "Go check out Illyria first, yeah? She took the worst of it."

Cordelia gave another nod, but visibly faltered when she saw Illyria, her hair long and tangled about her pale face, standing with her feet planted and her hands braced against the reception desk. There was a wicked-looking shard of metal in her side, skewering right through her, just under her ribs.

"You ready?" Angel asked, and Illyria gave him only silence in reply. "Okay then," Angel said. "On three."

Spike was expecting screams, instead Illyria only tensed as Angel pulled out the shard in one long, smooth pull, her knuckles whitening against the reception desk, gripping hard enough that he could hear the wood cracking. She was turned enough away from him that he couldn't see her face and part of him was glad of it. Blue blood spattered to the floor, landing near Cordelia's feet. Spike could hear Cordelia swallowing and the sound of her heart hammering, but she didn't hesitate again.

"Here. Sit down. Let me--"

"I do not require your aid," Illyria said, even as she swayed and Angel helped her to one of the couches.

"Maybe not, but it would make me feel better. Please?" Illyria didn't answer, so Cordelia took it as acquiescence and cracked open the first aid kit. "Can you... Does your, uh, top come off or something?"

A large section of Illyria's body armour slowly dissolved away over her stomach and ribs, baring her wound.

"Oh," Cordelia said. "I guess that'll work."

"Disinfect it well, then bandage it tight," Angel said, peering over her shoulder. "You need to make sure there's enough pressure to stop the bleeding."

"Nobody likes a backseat first aider," Cordelia sing-songed.

Spike rolled his eyes and wondered if he could twist anybody's arm into fetching him a medicinal shot or three of whiskey.

"You know," Cordelia was saying. "I don't think I've ever patched up anybody with blue blood before. I'm used to humans and vampires."

"Lower life forms and overgrown parasites."

Cordelia managed a tight smile and soldiered on. "Who are the reason you're currently bleeding all over my very expensive shirt. Why don't you think on that for a while?"

"I choose to battle for my own reasons."

"Funny how that's coinciding with helping the little people these days, huh?" 

Illyria fell silent, watching Cordelia's face as Cordelia worked. When Cordelia caught her looking, the smile she gave Illyria this time looked both genuine and reassuring. Illyria looked aggrieved, but made no further complaints.

"Does, uh, does anybody want anything? Need anything?" Angel asked, hovering and looking guilty for simply being less beaten up than everybody else.

"Whiskey," said Spike. "And blood. Don't skimp on either."

"Coffee," said Cordelia.

"Tacos," said Illyria.

"Right," Angel said, wearing the carefully blank expression that told Spike all the wind had just been sucked out of his sails. "Tacos. Sure. I'll just go do that."

He reappeared just as Spike was putting the finishing touches to his bandages, carrying a tray with a bottle of decent Irish whiskey and four glasses, two large helpings of blood, a steaming mug of coffee, and a plate of lopsided microwaved tacos. Quiet settled over the lobby. Spike drank his blood and started on the whiskey, marvelling at the site of Illyria actually eating, and wondered if he could get away with having another cigarette without getting the evil eye from Cordelia and Angel.

The time after battle was a strange one. In the good old days it had usually heralded celebration and debauchery, stolen blood pulsing under his skin, the fight still jangling his nerves. These days, it always felt a little different. The buzz was still there, making him feel like he could tear the world apart if need be, but there was always a different spin on things. Right at that moment, he was hurting and he was tired, there were people to look after, and recent losses that still hurt more than they had any right to. They'd won tonight's battle, true, but it was a small battle, and the war was far from over.

The quiet went on long enough that it became noticeable, then a little uncomfortable, then loaded. The sort of silence that was bound to lead to people breaking it by saying very stupid things.

"I think you should let me go with you next time you go out," Cordelia said, cradling her coffee mug in her lap. "I can help, you know? I mean, I could... It's bizarre and everything, but I think I'd like to help."

"No way," Angel said, just as Spike said, "Not on your nelly."

"But you've been training me. That was the whole point, right? I mean, we've moved on to the actual attacking stuff and everything. What's the point of that if you're just going to keep me cooped up in here?"

"The point is it's for your protection, Cordelia," Angel said. "I haven't been training you as a weapon. That's the last thing I want. This isn't a couple of vampires fresh out of their graves, this is... it's fucking huge. I want you here where I know you're safe."

Illyria dragged herself to her feet, already looking a little better. "When I am rested, perhaps tomorrow, it would amuse me to add my expertise to your tuition."

Angel and Spike answered with a simultaneous, "No!"

Illyria raised an eyebrow and got as close as she ever did to smirking. "My offer stands. I am retiring. Do not disturb my rest or make noise of any description. I wish to sleep for many hours."

Angel was halfway out of his seat. "Do you--"

Illyria held up a hand. "I do not require your aid," she said, and walked slowly up the stairs, her hand heavy on the banister, her head held high.

"You are absolutely not training with her," Spike said once she was out of earshot. "She's got this penchant for chucking people into walls. And sometimes through them."

"Got it," Cordelia said. "But I still think that I could--"

"Nobody's going to be on-board with this, Cordelia," Angel said. "This isn't Sunnydale, it's not just vampires you'd be dealing with, and we're massively, massively outnumbered. I've told you before: this isn't why you're here. You're not ready for something like that. And I need... I need to know you're safe."

Cordelia pursed her lips together. "Fine," she said. "Subject postponed, not closed."

"How do you think she's faring?" Spike asked. Anything to break up an argument before they really got going. "Illyria, I mean."

Angel blew out a stream of air. "Who knows. I didn't even know if she slept or not until now. I've seen her beaten up before, but not really impaled with anything. I don't really know how fast she heals or even if--"

"No, you prat. I mean mentally. You think she's still singing from the same hymn sheet as the rest of us?"

"Oh. Well, yeah. Good, I think." Angel sighed. "I mean, she hasn't flipped out and done anything unexpected in, oh, days now."

"Good," Spike said, bobbing his head. "That's good." He took a breath, feeling like he was about to betray a confidence. "I, ah, I saw her in her room the other day. I was passing by and the door was open. Don't think she noticed me. If she did, she paid me no mind. She was sort of... stroking her hands over the walls. Almost like she was reading Braille or something, you know? Her lips were moving. No sound, though, and my lip-reading's a bit rusty so I haven't a clue what she was saying, but it all just seemed a mite odd."

Angel leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking very tired. "I didn't know."

"Know what?"

"The little things, I guess. She's in Fred's old room. That's the room she chose. When Fred got back from Pylea, there was a kind of, uh, period of adjustment. She hid in her room a lot; wrote a lot of equations all over the walls. Stuff I couldn't ever hope to understand." He smiled sadly, his eyes on the empty mug in his hands. "And she just loved Tacos."

"So, what?" Cordelia asked. "Illyria's channelling Fred?"

Angel shrugged. "Beats me. Might not be such a bad thing if she is. I really miss her, you know? I just wish--" He broke off and sat back in his chair, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his eyes.

"I wish Wesley was here, too," Cordelia said softly, and Angel only nodded.

"You think he'd have an idea about what we're supposed to do here?" Spike asked. "He was a right nonce but he had his head screwed on most of the time."

"He might," Angel said. "I wish I could ask him, you know? It sort of... broke him, all the things he went through, but he knew how wars were waged. He'd probably know just what to do."

Spike smirked, but not unkindly. "Oh, glorious leader, but surely that's your department."

Angel spread his hands. "Hey, I came up with the Black Thorn thing. I'm all out of ideas about how to take down a demon army. At this point, I'd be willing to take ideas from anyone."

"Harmony," Cordelia said, like she'd just realised something very important.

Spike cast her a sidelong glance. "Honestly, pet? I really don't think Harm's our best bet for cleaning up the city."

"No." Cordelia shook her head, shooting him a look that spoke volumes about just how appalled she was at the very idea. "Dumbass. Not that. I was thinking about something Harmony said."

"Which was?"

"She said that Xander was in Africa."

"Yeah? Bloody good riddance."

"He was in Africa tracking down Slayers."

"And?"

"Slayers plural? Like, Slayers as in many of? No longer just One Girl In All The World. Or two girls, even. Hey, side note: what's Faith up to these days? Still coma-girl?" She waved her hand, dismissing it. "Never mind. Tangent. It just seems to me we have a perfectly good natural resource we're just not utilising here, guys."

Angel shook his head slowly. "It won't work, Cordy. I tried to ask for help before. I told you, we've been ostracised. They don't trust me."

"Okay," she said, holding up her index finger. "One, it's not just you. It's all of us." She added her second finger. "Two, there is no more Wolfram & Hart, so they can get over the whole 'affiliated with evil' spiel, because that's so last season." A third finger. "And three, a potential apocalypse totally trumps any and all in-house squabbling. We have a demon army. They have a Slayer army. The math looks pretty simple to me."

"Cordy--"

"They just have to get over themselves and help us. The city has gone completely warzone on us. People are dying, Angel." She looked back and forth between them, losing a little of her confidence. "I'm right, right? The apocalypse usually trumps that kind of thing, right?"

Spike tilted his head, weighing this up. "Not a _terrible_ idea by all accounts," he said, sticking his bottom lip out and glancing at Angel, who was slowly shaking his head. "Only decent game plan we've managed to come up with thus far."

"That is not a game plan," Angel said. "That's a... I can't think of a metaphor for a completely non-workable idea right now, but that's what it is."

"I should call them," Cordelia said.

"No, you really shouldn't."

"I'm going to call them. I have an excellent phone manner."

"Cordelia, this is not the way forward."

"Okay, boss man. I'll take it under advisement." She glanced at Spike. "Okay, I've thought about it. I'm totally going to call them."

Spike thought about Gunn and he thought about Wesley. He thought about the wound in his stomach and he thought about dragons that had got close enough to singe his eyebrows. He thought about an army of demons making a mess of the city. He thought about Illyria stepping in front of a jagged spike of metal that had been meant for him. He thought about frightened faces in the back of a van, and he thought about Slayers. Slayers he'd killed, Slayers he'd loved, and he thought about the hundreds and hundreds of Slayers that were dotted all over the world, filled with power and unchannelled purpose with little more than a weak hellmouth in Cleveland to focus their energies upon.

"Yeah," he said. "Call them. You can use my phone."


	24. Chapter 24

Angel couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning for hours, long enough that the sun had set and he'd heard Spike get up already. Spike and Cordelia's voices were mingling somewhere deep in the hotel, pitched low enough that Angel couldn't make out the individual words. He realised he was actively trying to listen in and pulled a pillow over his face with a groan, hoping it would blot out the world.

He hated the idea of Buffy sweeping into his city and seeing first-hand what a mess he'd made of things. He was supposed to be the one who made dramatic entrances when the clock was ticking and the end was nigh. When Cordelia had made her call, he had assumed the answer would have been a brusque "no" that he hadn't particularly wanted her to hear. Instead she'd had a short conversation with Giles that Angel had pretended not to eavesdrop on, and that was that. Arrangements were made and Slayers were on their way.

She hadn't even needed to raise her voice. 

It was good that the Slayers were coming, good that they'd said yes. Angel knew that. He'd been floundering for longer than he cared to admit. He just couldn't imagine Buffy striding in through the doors of the Hyperion and asking where the fight was. It all felt like a lifetime ago. 

But they were still supposed to be friends, weren't they? Cookie dough aside, they should still have been on speaking terms. He was so sure they'd mostly made their peace with everything. Neither of them were supposed to be ostracised because of a few bad life decisions like taking over evil law firms, or sleeping with _Spike_ of all people, and they most certainly weren't meant to be shacked up with the Immortal and living the high life in Europe. 

He was also thinking about how annoyingly stoic Spike had been about the notion of Buffy's return. Spike had never been one to suffer in silence, so the fact that he hadn't been complaining more or at least making lewd suggestions was really rubbing Angel the wrong way. 

If Angel were honest with himself, what he was _really_ thinking about was the good bottle of expensive Irish whiskey hidden downstairs in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet in his office.

All of this and more was weighing heavy on his mind when he peeled himself out of bed and made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before he realised there were two figures standing in the lobby. Buffy and Giles' eyes were on him as he stopped dead and wished with all his heart that he was wearing more than just a pair of silk pyjama bottoms.

There was a long moment of silence, bereft of movement.

Buffy lifted her chin. "Somebody called for a Slayer army?"

 

\---

 

"This is a good plan, Angel," Buffy said. "I mean, it's not like collateral damage is an issue at this point. What with the city being sucked into hell and all."

Angel did his level best to smile, but his cheeks refused to get in on the act and his mouth was being equally uncooperative. "I'm just saying it's going to be hard to pull off."

"Hard is my middle name," Buffy said. "Well, sort of middle. You know, after Slayer, Vampire, and the. Oh, and Anne."

"Where is Willow planning on transporting an entire demon army to, anyway?"

"She's weighing her options; figuring out what's going to cause least mystic backwash. Either a hell dimension or the end of time." Buffy shrugged. "Either works for me."

"How is she with magic these days? She's not going to mess up and land them in the middle of Time Square or something, right? And I happen to know a couple of perfectly nice non-hell dimensions that really don't need an invading demon army dropped in their laps."

"Willow is..." Buffy pressed her lips together, an odd little smile on her face. "Well, she's kind of the best. It's not something we go around shouting about, but there's a slight possibility that she's a goddess now."

Angel blinked a couple of times. "A goddess?"

Giles looked up from Angel's creased map of L.A. where it was spread out over his desk. "Demi-god, most probably."

Buffy waved her hand. "Giles is looking into it." 

"Indeed," Giles said, reaching for his mug of black tea that Angel had made him with one of Spike's precious imported teabags. "Perhaps unsurprisingly there's very little solid information to be found on the creation of deities. I'm coming up against a lot of closed doors. But I thought it prudent to know exactly what has befallen her. Willow has been through a lot. It pays to be informed about these things."

Buffy grinned. "A god. It's crazy, isn't it? Who'd have thunk that we'd end up with such heavy-duty mojo on our side, huh?"

Angel gave her a watery smile and tried very hard not to wonder where Illyria was at that precise moment and if she was behaving herself. He straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. "And, uh, she can do this all the way from Cleveland?"

"Sure. That part of the geography's not the issue, apparently. It's more the herding of thousands of demon bad guys into one spot thing we have to worry about so that Willow can scoop them all up with the big ball of glowing light thingy. Y'know, once we figure out where the best place for the scooping zone is."

"Oh," Angel said. "That sounds... oversimplified."

"Willow's explanation was way more technical." Buffy shared a look with Giles and lost a little of her blasé air. "Don't worry, Angel. We know what we're doing. The girls are... Well, they're amazing, really. They've been learning so _fast_. And the things we've been able to accomplish with so many Slayers..." She smiled up at him, glowing with pride. "It's just been amazing."

Angel opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he was interrupted by a familiar feminine shriek. 

"Buffy! Giles!" 

Cordelia dashed across the office and pulled Buffy into a hug. "It's so good to see you! I was starting to doubt that the outside world still existed. You look..." Cordelia drew back, keeping hold of Buffy's hands, and looked her up and down. "You look really... good, actually."

"Wow," Buffy said with a smile and a quick glance to Angel. "High praise indeed."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "Have you been in Europe?" She looked at Buffy more closely. "Italy? Have you been in Italy buying clothes? Milan? Was it Milan? No. Wait. Rome. It was Rome, right?"

"One day you have _got_ to tell me how you do that."

"You should see her sniff money," Angel said, then immediately wished he hadn't when everyone looked at him strangely.

"And look at you," Buffy said to Cordelia when she was done giving Angel the Eyebrow of Doom. "Angel gave me the Cliff Notes. You do know that magically taking five years off your life is totally cheating in the crow's feet department, right?"

Cordelia waved her hand. "Pfft. Like I even know how it happened."

Buffy smiled, then glanced over Cordelia's shoulder, feigning nonchalance in a way that Angel thought could use a little work in both the feigning and nonchalance departments when she said, "So, um, where's Spike?"

"He's hiding," Angel said. "Or sulking. Probably both."

"Definitely both," Cordelia added. "With cigarettes. Hold on. I'll get him for you." She took a deep breath and bellowed Spike's name. Spike remained very much not there. "Spike!" Cordelia yelled again. "Help! Help! Bad men! Help!"

There was the sound of running footsteps, and Spike appeared in the doorway, his boots skidding on the polished wooden floor, a cigarette clamped between his teeth.

Cordelia made a noise of disgust and wafted the smoke away from her face. "Hey, house rules! No smoking inside!"

Spike stuck out his tongue, but dutifully stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his boot and threw the butt in a nearby trashcan. "I _was_ outside. I heard a damsel in distress screaming my name and came running." He pointed right at Cordelia. "There's something in there about the girl who cried wolf and how next time I might just finish my smoke before dashing in to rescue you. Give me a minute or two and I'll come up with something good."

Cordelia rolled her eyes and grinned at him, completely missing the surprised looks they were getting from both Buffy and Giles. Spike scowled at her, then took in the other figures in the room, seeming to realise for the first time that they weren't alone.

"Hello, Buffy," he said quietly. "I really meant to let you know that--"

Buffy walked straight over to him and wrapped him up in a bear-hug. "It's really good to see you. You should have _told_ me you weren't dead, idiot. I'd have... I'd have... It's really good to see you, Spike," she said, speaking into his collar, quiet enough that Angel was sure he was the only other person that heard it.

Spike glanced at each of the others in turn, his gaze lingering the longest on Angel, then closed his eyes and hugged her back.

Angel let it go on for way longer than he thought was absolutely necessary -- three seconds at least -- then cleared his throat and started tidying things on his desk with as much noise and clatter as he could.

"Well," Cordelia said, clasping her hands together. "Nothing like a joyous reunion before we get down to the nitty gritty of casting out demons and retaking a city, I always say."

Buffy drew back from her hug, both her and Spike slightly pink cheeked and not quite meeting each other's eyes. "You said it. And I really am glad you're doing well here. You know, all things considered."

"Likewise," Cordelia said. "You're not planning on staying, though, are you?"

Buffy shook her head. "Oh, god no. That would just be... No."

Cordelia's grin brightened and Angel had to busy himself with the maps to hide his smile. "Well, that's all right then. In the meantime, mi hotel is su casa."

" _Mi_ hotel," Angel muttered, instinctively knowing he'd be ignored.

"Thanks," Buffy said, "but we actually have this whole Slayer army thing waiting for us just outside the city limits that we have to be getting back to."

"We were going to go patrol for a while first," Angel said, giving up on his fake tidying when he accidentally brushed an empty coffee mug to the floor where it smashed. He kicked the pieces under his desk and looked up with a forced smile, hands on his hips. "So I can show Buffy the lay of the land and we can scope out the, uh, scooping zone." He scratched his chin. "Do we really have to call it that?"

 

\---

 

"I don't see why they need to patrol," Cordelia said, pacing Angel's office after Angel, Buffy and Giles had left. "I mean, you guys have been skulking around the city for days and days now. Why don't we just get with the mystical scooping thingy and everything can finally go back to normal? I could really use a decent mani-pedi, and if I don't get an honest-to-god Starbucks latte soon, I won't be held accountable for my actions."

"That's what I like about you," Spike said, busy picking the lock of the bottom drawer of Angel's filing cabinet with one of Cordelia's bobby pins. "Always zeroing in on the important things."

"They probably just want some _alone_ time," Cordelia said, rolling her eyes. "Which is fine. I mean, whatever. That's always been their thing, right? Ill-advised midnight trysts and stolen moments in their epic star-crossed lovers' syndrome." She curled her lip. "Is it just me or should they not really be over that by now?"

"Jealousy is such a pretty colour on you, you know that, love?"

"Jealous? Me? Ha! I don't think so. I could care less what they get up to. I just want things to go back to normal, that's all. And what about you? Why aren't you out there with them? Playing third wheel and making sure there's no hanky-panky?"

The bobby pin Spike was using slipped. He sighed and started over. "Look, I have no desire to spend all night playing watchdog. If they're going to make googly eyes at one another for hours on end, I don't want to be there to witness it."

"But what if Angel gets a happy? What then? And what about Buffy? Last time I saw them, she was totally prepared to forget the whole Angelus thing which just goes to show that her judgement has always been impaired where Angel is concerned. And don't you care? You got a _soul_ for her. That's a huge deal, Spike. You can't be saying that this isn't chaffing like wet sand in your underwear."

"Look," Spike snapped. "I get that my being a complete idiot and always falling in love with the people who can never love me back is hilarious to all of you, but contrary to popular opinion, every once in a while I can figure out when enough is enough, all right?"

"Spike, I wasn't even saying that. I didn't think--"

"No, you never bloody do. The lot of you. I said I was moving on and I, for one, bloody well meant it."

Cordelia looked adequately contrite, and sat very still on the edge of Angel's desk, only her eyes moving, but not looking at him for more than a second or two at a time.

Spike gritted his teeth and went back to the lock. Finally, finally, it sprang open and he opened the drawer with a flourish, Angel's precious whiskey rolling into view.

"So," he said with a sigh, rolling to his feet. "What's the grand plan, then?"

Cordelia shot him a small smile, clearly recognising an olive branch when she saw one, and fetched him two glasses from the cabinet in the corner. "Willow's going to conjure up a thing. Sort of like a portal, only more like a big sphere that'll land on them and suck them in, 'cause it might be difficult trying to herd thousands of demons through a portal, you know?"

Spike nodded, pouring a generous measure of whiskey into both glasses.

"Anyway, the plan is get them all to one place using a combination of bait to lure them in and then the Slayer army as sheepdogs on the perimeter to herd. Then Willow gets with the portal sphere thingy, and Bob's your uncle."

Spike looked sidelong at her. "Don't talk like me. It's weird."

"Tally ho, old pip," Cordelia grinned, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. 

He fought it, pressing his lips together hard, but couldn't stop his smile. He rolled his eyes. "God, but you're a dork sometimes."

Cordelia bumped their shoulders together. "Right back atcha."

They clinked their glasses and drank. Cordelia hummed in appreciation. "Is it bad that I'm getting a taste for this stuff? I mean, not your stinky Scotch, but Angel's stuff isn't bad."

"You're asking the wrong vampire. I'm the one likely to corrupt you by actively encouraging underage drinking, remember?"

"You just like stealing Angel's stuff."

Spike spread his hands. "There is no bad here as far as I can see." He looked down at the map on Angel's desk. "This is a nice plan and all, but you left out one thing."

"Which is?"

"What's the bait?"

"Okay, so they said that Willow is going to have a very exact perimeter -- hey, they should totally just paint a big circle on the ground so everybody knows exactly where they're working with -- and, anyway, then they're rigging up this thing like a reverse bungee cord for superfast extraction so they can get everyone clear before Willow does her thing."

"Superfast extraction of what?"

Cordelia pressed her lips together. "From the sound of it, a Slayer."

"Just a Slayer? Buffy? All by herself? I don't think so."

"Yeah, a Slayer and maybe a couple of vampires and perhaps a little blue god-king who are infamous and pretty unpopular with said demon hordes."

Spike took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. "Great," he said dryly. "Looking forward to it." He swallowed another mouthful of his drink and quirked his mouth. "Still, always did want to try bungee jumping."

"This'll be more like... horizontal bungee jumping, but I think the theory's the same. I'm sure you'll love it."

Spike hmmed noncommittally. 

"So you get yanked out of there in the nick of time, then Willow does the portal scoopy thing, you wait for the dust to settle, then mop up any stragglers. I think it's a pretty good plan. Simple, you know? No muss, no fuss."

"I guess it'll do at a pinch." Spike bobbed his head. "I've heard a lot worse over the years." He looked at her appraisingly. "You know, none of this would be happening if it wasn't for you."

Cordelia shrugged and looked down at her hands, swirling the contents of her glass. "I just nudged people in the right direction. They would have gotten there on their own."

"That's very giving of you, pet."

Cordelia looked up with a megawatt grin on her face. "You like it? I've been practicing in front of the mirror for when Buffy was here. Inside I'm totally gloating at my magnificent genius."

Spike let out a bark of laughter. "That's my girl," he said, and saluted her with his glass.


	25. Chapter 25

Battles were fought, hard and bloody. People died, mostly young girls who'd only just started to grasp the heavy weight of their destinies, laying down their lives for that most noble and awful of purposes: the greater good. 

But in the end, two vampires and a hell-god fought alongside an army of Slayers and, with a little fancy footwork and some help from an out-of-state witch-possibly-goddess, they bested an army of demons. In the end, they retook the city. In the end, the good guys won. 

But that wasn't truly the end. It never is.

Just after sunset on the day that Los Angeles reopened for business and people began trickling back into the city, going to their homes, reopening their businesses, some rediscovering loved ones they'd thought for sure had perished, not knowing who or what had saved them, only offering silent prayers of thanks that life could finally go back to what passed for normal in the City of Angels, Cordelia Chase stood on a rooftop with a battered vampire at either elbow and proceeded to be exceedingly smug.

Angel, to his credit, let her have her moment. Spike let her have about six minutes, and then decided that enough was enough.

"All feels a bit anticlimactic, doesn't it?" he said.

Angel smiled broadly, looking down at his city. "I'll take the anti-climax any day of the week."

"I bet that's what you say to all the ladies."

Magnanimous to the end, Angel let Spike have his moment, too.

Illyria had followed them up to the roof, but she wasn't sharing in their post-victory triumph. Instead she chose to ignore them. She ignored the entire city, in fact, and instead invested her time counting the molecules of a small daisy grimly clinging to life in a crack between two old red bricks of the wall surrounding the hotel's roof.

Cordelia just breathed deep, happy to be alive. 

The happy-to-be-alive-ness lasted about a day and a half before she realised that the elation she had been feeling had somehow devolved into something a little less fun. She was trying to tell herself it was just a little insignificant, minor-type personal melodrama, but it was a hard sell. 

She'd helped. She'd really helped with getting all her little vampire and Slayer ducks in a row and she'd got people moving. Now the Slayers had hightailed it back to Cleveland, L.A. was down one army of demons, and things were as quiet as they ever got when your housemates were a haughty hell-god and two vampires who argued over anything and everything, up to and including who got the prize in the box of cereal. But now the big fight was over, that meant she had time to start thinking about the little things again. Like why she was here and why the last five years had been removed from her life. Like what the hell she was supposed to do now and, most importantly, how she could get rid of the visions because she could really live without the insta-migraines and soul-sucking terror and misery on a direct link into her brain.

She wished she had somebody to talk to, somebody halfway normal and sympathetic who'd listen to her woes and agree with her about how difficult her life was. Mostly these days that honour was bestowed up Spike (who wasn't even close to halfway normal but who could be oddly sympathetic on a good day) but after spending the night in his bed, not to mention the latest round of sucking face with Angel (which was nothing but a moment of weakness, perfectly reasonable under such extreme levels of stress and loss and end of worldiness, therefore completely understandable and totally excusable), this had all left Cordelia feeling confused and inexplicably guilty and pretty much alone with her thoughts.

Sometimes she really missed the Cordettes: empty vessels just waiting to be filled to the brim with her wisdom. There was nothing like a captive audience hanging on her every word to make Cordelia feel better, and these days she was sadly lacking. It just wouldn't be the same now that Harmony was older than her, and a vampire, especially since Angel had sworn that the next time he saw her he was absolutely, positively, 100% going to stake her, no take-backs.

Spike was shuffling around the kitchen, moving more easily today, his stomach wound a thing of the past and his injured leg practically back to normal. He was fixing her cereal just the way she liked it without her even having to ask, and warming himself a third helping of blood. Angel had disappeared for a few hours the previous evening after their get-together on the roof and returned with armfuls of groceries, restocking the kitchen for her with luxuries like real fruit and vegetables, actual milk for her coffee and, wonder of wonders, chocolate. There were also a few blood-bags piled in one of the fridges, but both Spike and Angel were still recovering, drinking more than usual, and Cordelia knew Angel would have to replenish their supplies soon.

Spike had taken a seat beside her and had adopted his typical sprawl, his arm slung across the back of her chair, an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear. "You should have seen her," he was saying. "The moves on that girl when she really lets fly. It was something else."

He'd been talking about Illyria for a while, nowhere near as animated as usual, especially since he was talking about violence, always one of his favourite subjects. He looked tired, truth be told, and even paler than normal. Something in his eyes today reminded her that Spike was old, far older than she would ever be, a creature of myth and magic, walking this earth when he should have been long dead.

Cordelia sipped her coffee. "Angel said that I helped her. Illyria, I mean. He said that time with the..." She waved her hands in an all-encompassing gesture. "All the blue. When she was jumping about in time. He said that whatever I did let her keep some of her strength."

"Yeah? Can you fix me up with a little of that?"

Illyria hadn't suddenly become less of an enigma just because the status quo had changed. She didn't seem any more human or willing to share either her company or her time in the presence of others. She spent a lot of her time in Fred's old room or up on the roof, and as usual had refused help of any description, remaining quiet and subdued, doing whatever it was Illyria did when she was alone. Cordelia wondered if she was lonely; if maybe it would be good for her to spend a little more time with them. Then she wondered how long it would take until she'd want to slap the god-king silly if Illyria traipsed down the staircase and began barking orders to her underlings.

Angel appeared, looking grey and only slightly less scowly than usual as he headed straight for the coffee pot. It was late afternoon, crack-of-dawn early for vampires, but at this point Cordelia had no clue what hours any of them were keeping. Angel stood with the coffee pot and an empty mug in his hand and traded a look with Spike, who nodded and said, "Made it myself not half an hour ago." A little of the tension seemed to leak out of Angel's shoulders and he filled his mug to the brim. He sipped at it as he took another mug and set about heating himself up some blood for the other half of his liquid breakfast. Spike sat quietly, watching him, and stealing slices of banana out of Cordelia's cereal when he thought she wasn't looking. 

It was strange to see Spike and Angel being quietly domestic for once. Just being, without all the bickering and posturing. Just two tired guys sharing space.

"You might want to go easy on the good stuff," Cordelia said, because she wasn't going to sit there in silence, but immediately regretted it, feeling like she was nagging. "I just mean that blood supplies are probably going to be thin on the ground for a while, don't you think?"

"We'll be fine," Angel said quietly, and gulped at his coffee, watching his mug of blood slowly going around and around in the microwave. "We might have to ration ourselves a little until the city gets back to normal, but I know a guy. If anybody can get fresh blood right now, it's him. I saved his daughter from a troll a few years back. He helps me out."

"Bloody good thing too," Spike said. "I'd rather not have to go stalking through the night looking for strays if the bagged stuff runs out."

Cordelia liked the sound of that. Not the thought of Spike skulking around in dark alleys looking for four-legged snacks, but the knowledge that Angel still had friends to call on when times were tough. Plus the idea that things were getting to get back to normal. Maybe it would all blow over in a week or two and she'd be back to designer cocktails and cooing over European fashion magazines and worrying about where to eat lunch instead of counting packets of noodles and tinned peaches and wondering how long she could make them last. 

"That's good," she said. "That you have someone to call, I mean. Good to know that you still have some sources you can hit up for... well, for a hit."

The microwave dinged and Angel retrieved his blood.

"Indeed," Spike said. "Seeing as the easy streak is over."

Cordelia frowned. "What part of this has been easy, exactly?"

"I just mean there's no more Wolfram & Hart to get us out of a bind when things get tough. No more grey areas." He squinted and went back to his coffee, unconsciously mirroring Angel's posture as the two of them stared into their mugs. "At least, none of those dark grey areas. All our areas are... off-white. Nice shade of magnolia."

Angel was working his lips, like he had something he wanted to say.

"Come on," Cordelia said. "Spit it out. I don't want you to pop something."

"Hmm?" Angel lifted his head. "Oh. Well. It's just..." He gave a small shrug. "I may have been, uh, siphoning money off."

"Really," she said, suddenly very interested.

"Mm. Somebody once accused me of wasting immortality by not developing an investment portfolio."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Now _that_ is good advice. You oughta shake that person by the... Wait. It was me, wasn't it?" She grinned. "I am so smart. I just want you to acknowledge the smartness of me right now."

"Yeah," Spike said. "Nothing says hero of the day like a little embezzlement."

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it," she said.

He smirked. "Like I wasn't being creative with my expense account."

Angel frowned at him in disbelief. "Spike, you used your credit card in a strip club. Seventeen times. That's not being creative. That's just... spending company money on strippers and booze."

Spike leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide. "Oh, trust me. It was plenty creative."

Cordelia pulled a face. "I think I liked it better when you guys were making with the recuperation and being all broody and silent. Can we go back to the fun quiet times when there was no talking about creative strippers in the kitchen where I eat now, please?"


	26. Chapter 26

Spike took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window, his eyes on Angel. Cordelia had dumped her dirty dishes in the sink and departed after announcing her plan to take a long hot bath and read a couple of month-old fashion magazines. Angel had been staring at nothing in particular in the middle-ground and having a very loud conversation inside his head ever since.

He glanced up and caught Spike watching him. "She seems happier," he said.

Spike was surprised that it had taken Angel so long to start mooning over Cordelia again. Now that they finally had a little breathing space and no one was pretending to be anything they weren't, he'd expected Angel to be trailing around after her like an attention-starved puppy trying to make up for lost time. 

"'Course," Spike said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Lady Muck just set the wheels in motion for saving an entire city. She's going to need at least a week's non-stop gloating time over this one. Now that all her favourite shops are opening up again, I'd hide the cards if I were you, mate."

"No. I mean, yeah, I know all that, but generally. She's more settled, I think. Don't you think?" There was tentative hope in Angel's eyes that did nothing but reinforce Spike's puppy metaphor. 

Spike thought through a couple of particularly scathing insults that he'd been saving up for a while now regarding Angel's mile-wide weak spot where Cordelia was concerned. Then he sighed, choosing the high road for once. "She'll be fine, Angel. Like I've been telling you: just give it time."

"Time?"

"Mm. Heals all ills, or so they say."

"No, it really doesn't." Angel stared at him just long enough that Spike had to fight the urge to fidget. "How about you?"

"Me?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"There's always Disneyland."

"Be serious for five minutes, would you?"

Spike took a last drag of his cigarette, considering. "If it was me..." He flicked the butt out of the window and wafted the trailing curl of smoke away. "Hell, if it was me, I'd probably lock her up somewhere that no one else could ever get to her and spend the rest of eternity trying to crawl inside her skin." He flashed a grin. "But that's just me."

"You know that stuff never works. In fact, it's downright creepy."

"Undead creature of the night here with abandonment issues. The ladies love it."

"This is all very diverting, but I was actually asking about you."

"What about me?"

"How are you doing? You know, generally?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Now that the glorious aftermath is fading along with the bruises, you mean? Couldn't be better."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but _how_?"

"Alcohol," Spike said without hesitation, sliding his flask out of his back pocket and lifting it in salute. "And lots of it."

"Really? For breakfast?" Angel waved it away, giving up on the Mother Hen routine in favour of his real question. "But I call bullshit. You're just... I don't know. So much has happened. Don't you even care?"

Spike narrowed his eyes. "I care," he said. "I care plenty. But unlike some, I don't feel the need to wear my unbeating heart on my sleeve."

"Since _when_?"

"Oh, piss off," Spike said, but there was little malice in it.

"How do you do this?" Angel asked, sounding genuinely curious. "You just waltz through everything like it ain't no thing."

"Did you honestly just jive-talk to me?"

"I want to know. Doesn't anything get to you?"

"Sure it does. It gets to me plenty. It always did and you know it, you great flaming nonce." Spike wondered what exactly it was they were really talking about here.

"How long has it been, anyway?"

"How long has what been?"

"Since you were cur-- Since you got your soul."

"Oh, I see. _That's_ what's got your knickers in a twist, is it? Spike countered, purposefully not saying two years, three months and four days because, really, what was the point?

Angel moved closer, looming in that endlessly annoying way of his, making Spike lean back in his chair to keep a little space between them. He had to turn his face away, realising too late that he'd as good as bared his throat to an elder vampire. "Doesn't anything matter to you? Doesn't anything have any meaning?"

Spike squared his shoulders. "Fuck off, Angel."

"Tell me. I want to know. How did you do it? It took me a century and still I have days when I just can't cope with it. I want to know how it only took--"

"So help me, if the next words out of your mouth are 'three weeks in a basement' I'll take your fucking head off," Spike said, meaning every word of it.

Angel growled at the threat, and the century-old routine of it only made Spike grin, a faint and mostly forgotten gleam of madness in his eyes. "What about you, Angel, hm? I'm sure you're used to all the toing and froing on the soul front, but you've got plenty of skeletons in your wardrobe besides. You spent enough time in Hell, _Angelus_ , yet I never hear you mention that in word or deed."

Angel went very still.

"How long was it exactly?" Spike asked. "I know how slowly time can pass in those hell dimensions. A hundred years? Two hundred? More? Yet you seem to have repressed it good and proper. Spent a week or three running around like an uncaged beast when you got back, then Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt, you're back to being the annoying tosser we know and love to hate."

"How do you even know about that?"

"How do you think?"

"Buffy."

Spike grinned, feeling reckless. "She always did talk in her sleep."

Angel grabbed fistfuls of Spike's shirt, lifting him bodily and slamming him against the wall, his arm pressed against Spike's throat, watching intently as Spike choked and scrabbled at Angel's sleeve. 

"No, you twat," Spike said in a scornful whisper. "Cordelia. It was Cordelia. The girl's got a knack for gossip. Runs in her blood."

Angel eased off a little, by accident or design Spike couldn't tell. "The two of you. You... you talk about me?"

Spike shoved Angel away from him. "Yeah, we like nothing more than putting our hair in rollers, doing each other's nails and talking about boys." He massaged his throat, wondering why he wasn't carrying through on his threats to take Angel's head off. "You know, I'm getting pretty sick to the back teeth of you attacking me. You want to have a proper go around, just say the word and I'll take the gloves off. If not, cut it out, would you? It's... _rude_."

Angel's jaw tightened. "I don't know what to do. I don't really know how I should be treating her. She hates me now. She blames me for all of this."

"Oh, for the love of--" Spike rolled his eyes so hard it actually hurt. All the flip-flopping from bickering to decent conversation to flirting to violence to agony aunt was really taking it out of him. Dysfunctional vampire families were the _worst_. "She doesn't hate you, and she doesn't blame you, Angel," Spike sighed. "Not really. She's just sharpening her claws on you. I think... I think it's what she wanted."

"What she... Don't talk garbage."

"It's called rubbish, you berk, and much as it pains me... I mean it." 

"I think she asked for this without really knowing what she was asking for," Angel said.

"Well, that's clear as mud."

"The reason she got to stay. She asked for a day."

"And lost five years?"

"No. She got her day. She did what she had to do when she was here, giving me my vision about the Black Thorn, putting me on the right track. But I think she wanted to stay. Maybe with me, or maybe just stay in general. But there was a price to pay."

"A price?"

"There's always a price."

"Hey, preaching to the choir here, mate. You ever think that maybe they -- whoever the hell they may be -- kept her here to keep an eye on you? That maybe she was needed to kick-start the removal of an unsightly demon army? After all, where would our eponymous hero be without his little helpers?"

Angel frowned. "Yeah," he allowed. "Yeah, maybe. It's usually all about the greater good, right?" He focused his gaze on Spike. Spike shifted under the weight of it. When Angel really _looked_ at a person, it could be unyielding, to say the least. "You did an amazing thing, you know that?"

Spike could only stare back at him, stunned, and getting more than a little dizzy with the twists and turns their conversation was taking, but he was determined not to let it show.

"You ever quote me on this and I'll deny it to the end, but you did better than I could ever hope to. I thought that because of that you would be chosen instead of me."

"Don't talk soft."

"I'm trying to be nice here, Spike, don't interrupt."

Spike opened his mouth and drew breath to speak, but for once he thought better of it.

"I've always struggled against the soul," Angel said. "You sought it out. You actually fought for it. There've been times... times I would have gladly given it up." Angel lowered his head. "Times I've tried to."

Spike was very still, listening to what Angel had to say, and not really knowing how he felt about any of it. 

"So I thought that maybe you did deserve it more. I just wanted you to know that."

The plain truth of it, of the strange olive branch Angel seemed to be offering, settled over Spike. It was an admission, and clearly a difficult one for Angel.

"Most vampires would think it was nothing but weak and stupid," Spike said.

"We're not most vampires, and we know better." Angel got up and went to the door. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm glad Cordelia's taken to you. It's good that you're looking out for her. A lot of trouble could still find its way to her because of the life she led here, because of us, and she won't know how to deal with it. So just... watch over her if I'm not around." He paused, probably for effect if Spike wasn't mistaken. Angel always was one for dramatic exits, the insufferable bastard. "And if you touch her," Angel said, "I'll kill you."

Before Spike could answer, Angel slipped out and closed the door behind him.

Spike ran his fingers through his hair. "Jesus," he said, blowing out a stream of air. "Jesus Christ above."


	27. Chapter 27

A loud bang and a yelp sent Angel hurrying to Cordelia's room. He burst in through the door to find her wrapped in a bathrobe, standing on a chair, trying to get one of the boxes of her stored things down from the high shelf in her wardrobe.

"Little help," she said, a large box held in her arms, balanced awkwardly against her chest and face, another box on the floor at her feet, lying on its side, its contents spilling out. Angel lifted her bodily from the chair, set her on her feet, and took the box out of her arms.

"My hero," she said, straightening her robe. She gestured for him to put the box on the bed. There was already an assortment of photos scattered over the rumpled sheets, mostly pictures of Cordelia over the past few years. The moment was all too familiar and Angel had to clamp down hard on a sharp jag of painful memories. 

"I was thinking about updating the look," she said. "Just looking for a little inspiration at what... other me did. These pictures aren't so bad, right? What did you think of me as a blonde?" She twisted her hair up behind her head. "I was thinking maybe something a little shorter?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Angel said immediately.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "Did you just pooh-pooh my personal grooming choices?"

He felt like a rabbit caught in approaching headlights. "Uh, no? It's just I always preferred your hair when it was like this. Long and thick. Dark. Like rope."

She frowned. "Rope?"

He swallowed. "Poor choice of words?"

"Ya think? Why not just say string? Or straw? Straw's a good word, wouldn't you say?"

"No. No, I just meant... heavy. Sleek, you know? Like-like... braided silk. It's beautiful."

She fought it, but a small, womanly smile lit her features. She let go of her hair and it tumbled down around her shoulders. "Choice of words improving."

She shooed him from the room, so he left her to her organising and wandered downstairs, where he found Spike painting his nails at the desk in Angel's personal, private, very much out-of-bounds office. There was a faint uncomfortable tickle in the pit of his stomach when he laid eyes on Spike. They hadn't really spoken since their last conversation where he'd said far more than he'd meant to, but that certainly didn't mean he was going to hold back when he caught Spike with his boots on Angel's mahogany finish, so he shoved Spike's feet off his desk.

Spike let out an outraged yelp. "Do you mind? This is a precision operation, y'know."

Angel curled his lip. "Not you too."

"What?" Spike asked, all his attention on his nails.

"You're... _preening_."

Spike sighed. "Look, you told me to keep an eye on her. She wants to go clubbing. So we're going clubbing. In one of her froofy, soulless, teenybopper hotspots. _Again_ , god help me." He did a poor job of suppressing a shudder. "Tell me again why we bothered to save this city?"

Angel wanted to forbid it, he wanted to kick Spike bodily out of his office, but this was exactly what he'd asked for, to have someone else he could trust to watch over Cordelia and keep her safe. For that to happen, it had to be somebody she was happy to spend time with. Besides which, he knew that any attempt to veto her ever leaving the building again and to always stay well within the wards wasn't likely to go down well.

He gritted his teeth and scowled at Spike. "Don't you ever think about updating the look?"

Spike gave a lopsided smile. "I happen to like the look. Besides, you know how it is today: anything goes. I do believe they wrote a song about it. You remember how it used to be? You wouldn't dream of stepping outside without a hat stuck firmly on your noggin. And if a lady should inadvertently flash her ankle?" He drew in air over his teeth. "Woe betide her." 

"It's called moving with the times."

"Ha. It's called selling out. Look at yourself. With your-your-your... _hair_. And your little black outfits. Although anything's better than all that beige. And, hey, while we're on the subject: your voice, Angel. What the hell happened to your accent?"

"We've been over this already."

"When?"

"New York, back in '77."

"Oh yeah," Spike said with a faraway smile. "A very good year."

"It really wasn't."

Spike's smile faded. "No. No, p'raps you're right."

"Besides," Angel said. "I could ask you the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Your voice. You and I both know you're from better stock than you'd have everyone believe. I'm all for reinventing yourself every couple of decades, but you never did tell me why you decided to start all the play-acting."

"Hey! That was a very definite unlifestyle choice. At least I still sound like I'm from England. Perhaps the occasional vowel slips here and there, but that's just how these things go when you're knee-deep in Americans twenty-four-seven. What about you? Where did all the Irish go?"

"It just... happened."

"Come on. If you sounded like Bono, worked the transatlantic angle, maybe that I could understand, but you sound like you were born here. It's so flat and nasal. So..." Spike screwed up his face. " _American_."

"You _like_ America. You like Americans. Besides, it happened after the soul."

"You were distancing yourself from your evil and despicable past, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"So you telling me that being Irish is evil and despicable?"

"No. I could show you where the _Fighting Irish_ nickname came from if you like."

Spike stuck out his bottom lip, considering it. "Nah. Not right now." He held up his hand, fingers splayed. "I've just done me nails."

Angel rolled his eyes. "And I'm the poof. Right."

Spike rode low in his chair, lazily airing his nails, watching Angel from across the room. "Not recently you're not."

Angel's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked to Spike's face. "Don't start."

"Why not? I'm bored."

"And I'm busy."

"Doing what? We haven't had a case in weeks -- praise be to whoever the hell it is watching over us poor wretched souls these days."

"I was kind of looking on it as a vacation."

"Holiday, you nonce. It's called a holiday. Can you at least make an _attempt_ at remembering how the Queen's English is supposed to be used?"

"I never spoke the Queen's English. It'd still have been Gaelic for me if your lot hadn't have come over throwing your weight around."

"Please, god, save us from another Irishman telling us all ad infinitum about how the world owes him something."

"Piss off then, you stupid feckin' gobsheen," Angel replied in a perfect Galway accent. "How's that for starters?"

"Don't think the Queen would approve." Spike sighed and looked away, a vague little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "But it's a start."

 

\---

 

The nightclub was just what Spike had been expecting. He would have given anything for a bit of character and decent beer on tap, but he figured he could settle for spending all of Angel's money on overpriced whiskey and hanging out on the balcony smoking area, watching fake-tanned girls totter past him on ridiculous heels, all of them deliriously happy and celebrating their grand return to the city by wearing tiny scraps of nothing where their dresses should have been. This was prime hunting ground, so to speak, and yet instead of throwing out a few of his tried and tested lines, honed to perfection over the decades, he was giving the majority of his attention to watching Cordelia through the glass partition separating the two levels of the club as she sipped her cocktail by the bar on the floor below. He tossed his cigarette away and slipped back through the crowd to her side.

She set her empty glass on the bar and gestured for another. "You know, I'm sure I remember this being more fun."

Spike caught the bartender's eye and pointed at the top-shelf Scotch he wanted, then leaned back on his elbows. "I hate to sound like an old fart, but if this is your idea or escapism or teenage rebellion, I bet it all kind of pales into insignificance after... well, everything."

Cordelia accepted her new drink and scowled at him as she took a sip. "Jeez, don't suck all the fun out of it for me or anything."

"Hey, don't get me wrong. There's a lot to be sad for escapism and rebellion. Just so happens they hit a lot of my buttons. I'm just saying it might not exactly be what you're looking for right now."

She sighed. "It does all seem kinda lame, to tell you the truth."

"We could go dancing, if you like. Lose yourself in the middle of a crowd of nameless, sweaty, like-minded individuals."

"Meh. Maybe later."

"What about the talent?" he asked. "I reserve the right of veto, naturally, and I may have to break a few arms if anyone gets, uh, fresh or what have you, but isn't there anyone that's caught your eye?"

"I think I give off weird vibes," she said. "Or possibly it's the fact that you're growling at anyone who comes near me."

"Nah, that can't possibly be it," Spike said, smiling as he tossed back his drink.

"Besides, it wouldn't matter if I did meet someone. There's no way it's going anywhere. I live in an abandoned, musty old hotel with a couple of overprotective vampires and some ancient god-demon person with a bad blue rinse and a total of one outfit in her wardrobe. I have mystical amnesia, I'm not as old as my driver's license says I am, and sometimes I get visions which could conceivably crack my head clean open. Face it. I'm a total freakazoid. I'm one-hundred percent undateable." 

He leaned in closer. "Oh, I don't know, pet. I wouldn't say no." 

The next minute he was seeing stars when a perfectly executed right hook caught him across the jaw. Then came a kick to the side of his knee that took his feet from under him and had him sprawled out on the floor. He looked up with a growl to see Cordelia standing in a fighting stance, her expression unsteady, but her posture strong.

"Angel taught me that."

Spike rubbed his jaw. "I knew it felt familiar. You wanna tell me where that came from? And, perhaps more importantly, _why_?"

Cordelia stood her ground. "I don't know. I didn't actually mean to. It's just... there's a thing. Here's the thing. You gotta stop this. I mean I know we've..." She waved her hand between them. "I know there was kissage. I mean, it was probably mostly even my fault. But I absolutely cannot deal with two vampires macking on me. Both of you, you have to quit it. I feel like a ping pong ball. It's over the top unnerving. I'm nobody's Buffy, you get me? And there's this thing called a personal bubble?"

"I wasn't actually hitting on you."

"Oh." She tilted her head. "You weren't?"

"No more than usual. I thought I was raising your spirits."

Cordelia's hand went to her mouth. "My bad. I may be a little over-sensitive at the moment. And apparently I have knife-edge reflexes. Who knew."

"Can we please get the hell out of here?" he asked. "I hate this place." 

She nodded. "We should probably motor. I think the bouncers are imminent."

"Good," he said, getting to his feet. "Not that that would be embarrassing at all. And listen, next time you want to hit the town, I pick the venue. I do happen to know a few places that aren't all mosh-pits and mohawks. Time to broaden your horizons." 

She nodded again. "Sorry," she said. "For punching you."

"Little love-tap like that? Don't worry about it. Good to see you're improving. What say we head home and I can show you where I hid my little marshmallow stash for hot chocolate. Dibs on the bourbon. I'm sure we can commandeer the telly so long as Illyria isn't playing Crash Bandicoot again." He offered his hand. "Walk you home?"

"Nobody walks in L.A."

"It's only a mile or twelve. Right around the corner. A little fresh air might do us good."

"Nobody gets fresh air in LA," she said, then smiled, relenting. "I might let you pay for a cab. You going to keep your hands to yourself?"

He held them both in the air. "On my honour as a vampire."

"Oh, now I'm convinced."

"I should think so." He took her by the elbow in a gentlemanly fashion to lead her from the bar. "See, I've been practising my soulfulness."

"You have?"

"Oh yeah. Chicks dig it."

She looked him up and down, considering. "I suppose so. I mean it's hardly the hair, is it?"

 

\---

 

"You got her drunk," Angel said. "Again."

"A couple of umbrella drinks and two Irish hot chocolates does not constitute drunk," Spike said with authority.

"She's a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. You _know_ that. You're supposed to be looking out for her."

"I kept the slavering masses away, managed to talk her into coming home early, _and_ I tucked her in with a glass of water and an aspirin on her bedside table. That's a damn sight more than anyone's done for me recently. In fact, I'd love to know when I became a glorified bloody nursemaid to you lot, and yet all I seem to get for it is grief from you, Angel. I thought we were working the whole 'one for all and all for one' angle. Turns out you just like having me here as an audience for when you throw your great lumbering weight around."

"Right. And I suppose the free room and board is such a hardship."

"Oh, please. You honestly think I can't do better than this? I happen to have all manner of skills when it comes to finding a place to lay my head."

"You can't just pick a house you want and drain the owner anymore. There's a way to living in the world."

"Right you are," Spike said, scorn dripping from every word. "Thanks for that stellar insight into the world at large. Never once occurred to me that there might be a better way, like _renting_ , you bell-end."

"You're drunk."

"I am not," Spike insisted. "Well. I may be. But you're a wanker, and that's not something that's going to go away overnight."

Angel narrowed his eyes. "Where did you get the bruise?"

Spike pursed his lips together, not doing a very good job of hiding his amusement. "Had a bit of a run in at the club. No big deal."

"You have to be more careful around Cordelia," Angel said, moving closer. "More focused. She's too important for you to just ignore like that."

Spike snorted. "Me ignore her? That's rich." He rolled his eyes when Angel growled low in his throat. "We're doing this _again_ , are we?" Spike sighed. "Go on then, peaches. Hit me with your best shot. Fire away. But I feel like I should warn you, you're going to have to keep your grubby little paws to yourself. Looks like this time the lady's off the menu."

"Are you... are you actually threatening me?"

"I'm not the one making threats, you great lunk. She's the one who doesn't want you hovering and making mooshy faces at her." He watched, always amused when Angel's angry sire routine fell flat and the weight of the world hung heavy on him as Spike's words sank in. "Angel, Angel, Angel. Falling for the girl again." Spike tutted. "With your nasty little loophole, shouldn't you know better by now?"

"Shut up."

"And always so true to form."

"What are you talking about?"

"You, and your..." Spike touched the tip of his tongue to his teeth. "... proclivities. You always did like 'em young."

"Really. And how exactly does that explain Darla?"

Spike waved his hand. "Doesn't count. She chose you. I'm talking about your little schoolgirl fetish. It's a bit sad, really."

"I didn't always like them _young_ ," Angel snapped, and then he dropped his gaze, unhappy, not quite able to meet Spike's eye. "I like them... innocent. It's like being able to breathe again."

"Oh, that's rich! You take little Snow White and drag her down in the dirt with you. Ruin her life because you're so bloody selfish you don't know when to stop."

"I did stop! I walked away from Buffy. Which is more than you managed to do."

Pure fury shone in Spike's eyes. "I wasn't talking about _Buffy_ , you insufferable arse. Drusilla? You do remember her, don't you? It's always the same with you, history repeating over and over, ever since I've known you. But since you bring it up, you left Buffy when it was too late. You'd already broken her, and then you left her all alone. That's just what you do. You always break them."

Angel was shaking his head. "I had to go. It was the only way. And you're one to talk. At least I had a soul when I was with her. At least she knew that much."

Spike couldn't hold back. He was across the room in a blur, landing a punch that sent Angel reeling, the only thing still holding him up Spike's hold on his sweater. "Some fucking good it did her too. She was broken. Little bits and pieces, and who was there to hold her together when she needed it? When she was at her lowest? When she'd been ripped out of heaven itself? That's right. Good old Spike was there. Didn't even have a soul and still I loved her. Still I helped her and still I died for her. Where the hell were you?"

Angel lifted his chin, making no attempt to dislodge Spike's hold on him. "Where I had to be," he said, his voice quiet after Spike's hurled abuse.

Spike's fist wavered in the air. He shoved Angel away from him, tired of their endless arguments, tired of their inability to just get along for more than five minutes without throwing punches. He'd thought they were passed all this, he'd thought it a hundred times, but they always ended up back at each other's throats. He wasn't one to miss the fun to be found in some good old-fashioned bickering or a spot of occasional well-placed violence, but it was all beginning to feel like little more than an old act and they were just saying their lines, playing to an empty theatre.

"Yeah," he said. "You were here. Took you all of five minutes to get over her and then you'd moved on to the next bit of stuff that came along."

"Cordelia is _not_ a bit of-- You know what? Forget it. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Enlighten me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I asked nicely, you git, and..." Spike sighed. "And because I really want to know.

Angel folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders hunched, looking uncomfortable. "Cordelia was my best friend. It wasn't love at first sight like with... It wasn't just instant. It was more than that. A lot more. For a while it was everything. We grew together. She knew me. She accepted me. All of me."

Spike sneered. He couldn't help himself. "And just look where it got her."

Angel's moment of calm vanished. He roared with anger and launched himself towards Spike. They stumbled across the room, kicking and punching at one another until Angel had Spike pinned up against the wall. Spike recoiled, expecting a blow that didn't fall, Angel's fist hovering, a mirror image of their position from only moments ago. This left the two of them panting for breath they didn't need, their faces inches apart.

"Well, well," Spike drawled, "this brings back memories."

With a grunt of disgust, Angel pushed him away, sending Spike to the floor. He landed heavily, framed in a pool of black leather.

"Get out," Angel said.

"Whassa matter? Can't take out your frustrations on me anymore?" Spike hopped to his feet and made a show of dusting himself down. "Just wondering, mate. Would that be because of your soul?" He cocked his head. "... or mine?"

Angel gritted his teeth. "Didn't you hear me tell you to get out?"

"I heard you. Just didn't listen is all."

"You just never change, do you?"

Spike snorted. "Hell, we both know that's not true. Space of a couple of years and I've turned my entire existence on its head." He made sure he had Angel's full attention before donning his smuggest expression. "What've you done in that time?"

To his surprise, Angel slumped into his chair. "Jesus, don't you ever just... like the quiet? You're always so loud. You're like a damn foghorn."

Spike shrugged. "'Smy thing. You're the avenging knight, I'm just--"

"The comic relief?"

Spike narrowed his eyes, but didn't rise to the bait. " _No_ , I'm the cool on-the-sidelines guy dancing to the beat of his own drummer. The one everybody cheers for when he shows his face."

"Like Fonzie?"

"Don't push your luck." Crossing the room, Spike rested his behind on Angel's desk, so they were facing one another. "Don't need the spotlight, do I? That's your gig. I like to get in trouble. Drink and fight and fuck. Told you, I like the crunch. That was always my thing. You were too busy off scheming somewhere, making up your grand plans. You missed all the fun along the way."

Angel looked up, his eyes the only part of him that moved. "Don't have fun with Cordelia."

Spike grinned and pushed off the desk. He stepped up to Angel and bent down, putting a hand on each arm of Angel's executive chair. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate," he said, his words close enough for Angel to feel them. He kissed Angel on the forehead, his lips hard -- a remembrance for the past, a caution for the future. He turned to leave, but a strong hand caught him around the wrist. Angel looked up at him, eyes shadowed. "What do you want, Angel? 'Cause whatever it is, you'd best make it worth my while."

"What I want?" He turned Spike's wrist until he was staring at Spike's palm. 

Spike opened his hand, wondering what the game was here, suddenly unsure of what they were doing, all his lines rewritten in the space of a heartbeat. When he got no reaction from Angel, he cupped Angel's chin and raised his head so he could look him in the eyes. "Come on, Angel," he said in a lowered voice. "I dare you. Make it worth my while."

Angel drew Spike's hand closer to his mouth, his lips parting, but seemed to catch himself, and he hesitated. His eyes closed. "I can't," he admitted softly.

Spike let out a long breath. "That's pretty much what I thought."


	28. Chapter 28

Cordelia had only wanted to get out of the hotel for a while to get a burger and maybe see a movie. She'd wanted nice, normal, everyday things, and to not have to think about anything in any way related to her crazy life for a couple of hours -- other than Spike stealing her fries or talking his way through the movie like the characters were actively looking for his input. What she'd got instead was attacked by a pair of Vanglash demons and the heel snapped off her favourite pair of boots for her trouble. When the Vanglash were lying dead at her feet, already liquidising and trickling slowly into the gutter, her annoying bodyguard dropped out of his fighting stance and turned all his attention on her. She was expecting the usual post-fight swaggering from Spike, but she really wasn't expecting it when he grabbed her by the shoulders and glared at her.

"That was too close," he said. "What was all that flailing about? You do know you were overextending yourself? I mean, for the love of god, woman. Your left side was wide open. _Wide_ open. Hasn't Angel been teaching you anything you can actually use in a fight? You spend long enough in the practice room together."

She wanted nothing more than to tell him where he could shove his lecture, but the hell of it was he was right and she knew it. "I know. I wasn't thinking. It's different when it's for real." Then, horror of horrors, her eyes filled with tears, something that had been happening with alarming frequency lately, and what slipped out next was a muted little: "Sorry."

"Don't apologise to me, Delia. Just be more careful."

She bit down hard on her lip and nodded, hating that she couldn't even get properly angry with him in return because this was just his way of expressing worry.

His hold on her became gentler. "Oh, don't get all mopey," he said. "Just worry about you is all. You've got one job and one job only in a fight, and that's to protect yourself. You don't worry about me and you certainly don't worry about Angel. You run if you can, or if there's no way out you make the other guy dead, fast. The longer you have to stand and fight the worse your odds become. I still forget sometimes that you're kind of new to all this. Not much more than a baby."

"Spike--"

"You just have to be more careful. I could, I don't know, give you extra lessons if you like." 

"Spike--"

"Don't know if I can teach you anything Angel can't, but I know I fight dirtier than him, that might help. And you shouldn't limit yourself to just one style of--"

She touched his cheek with her fingertips and he stopped mid-sentence, finally hearing her, watching her closely, full of concern. 

"Thank you," she said. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd touched him like that. Maybe just to focus his attention, maybe a soft touch to let him know that her thanks was genuine, but the surprise in his eyes, the split-second of confused little boy followed rapidly by a widening of his pupils, it made her heart stutter-stop in her chest and she realised that she'd been looking for permission. So she lifted her face and kissed him. At the touch of her lips, he froze. Cordelia stepped in close and opened her mouth to him. He made a soft sound of surprise, but recovered quickly, kissing her back. 

When they finally broke apart, Cordelia bit her lip and grinned at him, feeling lighter than she had in a while.

Spike let out a shaky breath. "That was..."

Her grin widened. "Me kissing you."

"Yeah, I got that part. 'Sbeen a while, luv. Do I get to punch you now? Turnabout is fair play after all."

"I'd kinda prefer it if you didn't, my massive hypocrisy notwithstanding."

"Okay. Is this a thing now? It's starting to feel like a thing."

"Isn't everything a thing?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I can see you're aiming for clever and cryptic but all I'm getting over here is a vague wishy-washy avoiding the question kind of a vibe."

"You got that, huh? Would you accept an 'I honestly don't know' and let's just see where we end up?"

"That's not my usual modus operandi."

"Huh. And how does that usually work out for you?"

Spike took a moment to think it over. "Not particularly well, now that you come to mention it."

She nodded. "We live under the same roof, after all. Probably best not to rush into anything."

"Hmm." He ran a thumb over his lower lip and smiled, but there was a serious edge to it. "Best we, ah, don't tell Angel. Probably. I mean, not until I decide to lord it over him at a later date."

A shadow passed over the moment, but she pressed her lips together and nodded. "My lips are sealed."

He smiled, smooth as silk, and dropped his gaze to her mouth. "Pity 'bout that."

She rolled her eyes. "Dork."

"Do you know, in over a century of existence, I don't think I've ever been called that before."

"Can't think why. Take me home?" She lifted the foot with the broken heel on her boot and waggled it. "I'm having a slight wardrobe malfunction."

He offered his elbow. "M'lady."

 

\---

 

Angel sought her out the next night, as casually as he knew how, and found her sitting at the desk in his office, feet up, a forgotten cup of coffee making rings on his wood finish. At this point, he was about ready to give the office up as a lost cause. No one respected personal space anymore. 

He greeted her, happy to see her but wary as always. Cordelia hadn't always been the easiest person to deal with and she had the annoying capacity to run rings around him in conversation, but these days when they spoke it was nothing short of a verbal minefield. He sat opposite her, feeling out of place on the other side of his desk, swamped by too many memories of when Wesley had been the boss.

He laced his fingers together and tried to make his body language say positive things. "So, have you, um, been up to anything interesting? Since I last saw you."

Cordelia's eyes widened a fraction and he could hear her heart rate pick up. "Well, there was a thing."

Angel watched her closely. "A thing?"

"Mm. A demon thing."

"What?" He lurched forward. "Did Spike--"

She lifted a hand to stop him. "Spike didn't do anything. I mean, he saved my ass, but he didn't do anything wrong." She darted her gaze away. "He was a perfect watchdog. We took care of it. Demons now firmly in the warm liquid goo phase."

Angel frowned. He'd had plenty of time over the years to learn Cordelia's tells when she was hiding something. He just wasn't always so good at figuring out how to get the truth out of her. "Are you okay?"

"Who, me? Sure. Fine. Great. Yeah. Couldn't be better." She waved the question away, making a show of it, like it was no big deal, like she was tired of his endless concern for her. "I've just been wondering..." She stood up and went to his bookcase, aimlessly trailing her hand over it as though checking for dust.

The long silence wore Angel down. "Wondering?"

"Yeah." She faced him, her legs planted, hands balled loosely at her sides. "You and me were an item, which, crazy-cakes-land obviously, because where I just came from, you and Buffy were Soulmates till the End of Time, as misguided as that all was. I must really have rocked your world to make you forget about that."

Curious as to where she was going with this, Angel gave a small nod.

"So, how did it happen?"

"Excuse me?"

"How did we get together? I mean, I take it we were hot and heavy, right? Like, why risk the soul on anything less."

"We were..." He dropped his gaze. "Yeah. We were."

"So what did you do? Put the moves on me?"

"Did I... what?"

"You've been around a while, got the whole studly package going on, so what was it? Seduction? Candlelight? Little flash of fang? Some growly sexy vampire thing to get the blood pumping?"

"No," Angel said, his voice strained with the pain of being the only one in the room who could remember how they had loved. "It was nothing like that."

"So I wasn't your Buffy surrogate."

"Buffy was the past. I loved her. I mean, I still do, I'll always care for her, but it's different now. We're friends. I'd said my goodbyes. I had to leave that behind. There were these monks, you see, and I--"

"Had to? And I was your booby prize? Your soul was safe with me?"

"No, you were..." Cordelia's chin lifted, like she was steeling herself for a blow. "You were my best friend. Best friend I ever had."

Cordelia took a moment to process this, her expression hard. "So how did we end up fuc--"

" _Don't_. Don't you say it like that. It was never like that." His sudden anger melted into melancholy. "Besides, you have nothing to worry about. We never got the chance."

Her eyes widened, a light blush staining her cheeks. "You mean that after all this... we never actually did it?"

"No." He stood, pushing his chair back forcefully. "We never did it. After heartache and doubt and bloodshed, we finally realised what we were to each other. We were in love. Real love, Cordelia. You were like a mother to--" He turned his back to her, leaning his weight against the edge of his desk, gripping its edge. "We never had a chance. You went away, and it was like the whole world got between us, and now you don't even remember." He looked back over his shoulder at her, not enough to see her, but enough to let her see his profile. "You happy now?"

"Ecstatic," she said, sounding anything but.

 

\---

 

After that, Angel left Cordelia to her own devices and went back to doing what he did best: hiding in the shadows and brooding for all he was worth, then going out at night to kill every vampire or demon he could get his hands on. Granted, at the moment pickings were slim, but as the city got back to business as usual the demons and vampires were filtering back in, following the endless flow of humans, just like always. He avoided Spike too, which wasn't hard seeing as Spike seemed to spend most of his time with Cordelia. Angel would hear them in the hotel, talking, laughing, watching movies, just being together, living in the world. They'd started training together too, which meant Cordelia had cut down on her sessions with Angel.

He could smell them around him all the time, their scents mingled, and it drove him to distraction. Occasionally Illyria deigned to spend time with them, usually where video games or sparring were involved, and she always appeared if Mexican food was ordered, but she kept mostly to herself. Angel crossed paths with her every so often, and always made the attempt to keep a friendly face on things and let her know that he was around if she needed him, just in case, but she usually ignored him, going back to whatever it was she did in the upper levels of the hotel.

Every night at sunset he went out, and stayed out until the sunrise. No prophecies, no caseload, just plain, old-fashioned street-level patrolling to work off a little tension. He drove around L.A. like he used to, just waiting to see what the night had to throw at him. On a nondescript Tuesday morning, he came home bruised and battered with dust on his clothes and demon blood in his hair. Tired and aching and ready to sleep, he stood under a blistering hot shower for as long as he could take it, letting the water spill over his skin, cleaning his wounds until they began to heal over, turning his sore muscles to putty. 

He lay in bed and listened to the small noises the hotel made, settling in its foundations, still finding its footing even after all these years. He lay there and kidded himself that he was going to drift off to sleep. His stomach rumbled. As always, he made himself ignore it for just a little bit longer, to put off feeding for as long as he could, but there was no denying he was hungry. His gums itched. Eventually, he couldn't stand it any longer. He threw off the covers and got out of bed.

In the doorway of the hotel kitchens, he paused. There was a light on, and he could hear a heartbeat. Cordelia. He walked silently into the room and saw her, dressed in a ratty old nightgown, more like an oversized t-shirt that fell to just above her knees. She was staring into the fridge like it held the secrets of the universe. The simple sight plucked at his heart. Cordelia could spend forever staring into the fridge, lost in thought. Everything she did, she'd done before; before, when she was his Cordelia, when she'd loved him. Not like now when he was alone, always on the outside, and she tolerated him. _Tolerated_ him. How could she do that when once she'd been his anchor? She'd been the only one who knew how to cut through all his bullshit right to the heart of the matter; the one who'd fallen in love with him despite it all. Somehow they'd found each other, but he'd ended up losing her, just like he lost everything that mattered to him.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Cordelia looked up sharply. "Angel," she gasped, one hand on her heart as she caught sight of him, concealed in the shadows. She frowned a little into the darkness. "You scared me half to-- oh my god. What happened to you?" She was across the room, her hand on his skin before he could stop her, touching him gently. He looked down and saw himself through her eyes. He was wearing only a pair of sweatpants; a huge black bruise covered one pectoral and most of his shoulder. His arm was folded to his chest, curled around his ribs protectively. He took her hand and held it away so that she wouldn't be touching him. Just that one touch sucked all the anger out of him and he didn't want to be left without it, stripped bare. It was all he had left to keep him going.   
"It's nothing," he said, meaning it. "I'm fine."

"Come on, Superman, you can't even lift your arm."

"I said it's nothing. It'll be mostly gone by tomorrow." A muscle spasmed, knitting back together, and he winced. "Maybe the day after."

"What did you get hit with? A wrecking ball?"

"A Rhinon Demon." She looked at him blankly. "Kind of like a wrecking ball, but with legs and a couple of tusks."

"God. It looks awful."

"Really, it's not so bad. I just need blood and sleep." He opened the fridge and saw that it contained two yoghurts, half a jar of mayonnaise, an empty carton of milk, baking soda, and a few crumbs. "God _damn_ it!" he snarled, making Cordelia jump. "Spike was supposed to--" He slammed the fridge door, leaving them in near darkness. "Forget it. I'm going back to bed."

"Angel, you shouldn't--"

Her tone was nothing but concerned, but Angel was tired. "What? I shouldn't what? What is it now? You want to complain some more? You want to blame me again? Ask me awkward questions that hurt me in ways you can't even imagine because you don't remember any of it? What do you _want_ , Cordelia?"

"No, I--"

"What?" He could see her clear as day, despite the dim light, and it cut at him to see her eyes fill with tears. He knew she hated to cry, and yet he'd brought so many tears into her life. 

She was staring at his bruises, and extended her hand, letting it hover scant inches over his skin. "I never meant to hurt you. You know that, right? I just wish I could remember."

It was the last thing he had expected.

"You know all this stuff about me. We did all these... things together. You seem to think I'm this great person and all I do now is make you angry and disappoint you. It's really _hard_ to be around you, you know? And I wish..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, like anything more was impossible. "I wish I could remember us."

Genuine surprise robbed him of any response.

"There's something so..." She took a shaky breath and it drew him in. He took her hand and pressed it back to his skin, right over his heart, bruises be damned. "I'm really under your skin, aren't I?" she said. "You just seem to care about me so _much_."

He nodded, transfixed. Hope woke his body, made him breathe, firing his nerve endings like they didn't know they were long dead. This was his Cordelia. This was the girl he knew. She wasn't afraid of him. She knew him, trusted him, and was absolutely sure of his love. He believed it. Even as he lied to himself, for one beautiful moment, he let himself believe it.

"Cordy," he murmured.

"You shouldn't trust me like you do," she whispered. "You shouldn't. I'm not this perfect girl you think I am. Not even close."

He shook his head, because he did and she was. Close now, they were so close that he could feel her warm breath on his lips. Tentative, he kissed her. He wrapped his good arm around her and tangled his fingers in her hair. Joy surged through him when Cordelia opened her mouth to him and kissed back. He walked her backwards, the fact that he was moving barely registering, and lifted her up to sit on one of the countertops like she was lighter than air. She tugged the nightdress down between her legs to keep herself covered, and hooked her heels behind his knees. Angel let himself be drawn in; too aware of his own skin everywhere she was touching him. What started out slow and sweet quickly became heated, until they were flush against one another, only silk and thin cotton separating them. He smoothed his palm up her thigh under the nightdress, greedy, wanting more of her warmth, the soft material slipping up her thighs, and he groaned when he came to the naked curve of her hip. 

He pulled back to look at her, searching her face and not knowing what he would find. He had so much that he wanted to tell her. He loved her. He'd missed her so much. She was everything to him, the past be damned, and it was killing him to see her every day and not to be able to tell her. The words were right there, so real to him it was like he'd already said them.

Instead what came out was, "What are we doing? Are you--" His words were choked off when she hooked two fingers on the waistband of his sweatpants. "Cordelia, don't." He grabbed her wrist. "I don't think--"

"Don't think," she whispered, and tugged down on the waistband, the elastic sliding easily over his hips. She wriggled closer to the edge of the counter and wrapped her legs around him.

" _Delia_ ," he whispered, light-headed and overwhelmed.

She pressed closer to him, biting on his earlobe, his throat, his undamaged shoulder. She whispered his name hoarsely, twisting her hips and teasing along the length of him, not taking him inside but getting him wet and slippery, making his hips jerk forward and his gums tingle with want. "Don't think," she said. "Just give me what I want."

His head swimming, he tugged her closer, right to the edge of the counter, and slid inside, helpless to do anything but give her exactly what she'd asked for. He swallowed down her gasp, and stuttered to a stop when she clenched tightly around him. She hid her face in his shoulder and clung to him, every muscle tensed.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice unsteady, relieved when she nodded.

She lifted her head. "Good. I'm good. Just... never done this before."

"But you--" Surprise washed over him. He inhaled and caught her scent, and with it the truth of what she was telling him. Delight that he tried and failed to hide lit him up from the inside. "Of course," he said, and kissed her away her youthful embarrassment, using every modicum of willpower to keep himself from moving inside her, from fucking into her the way he wanted. He held still, muscles aching with the effort, letting her get used to the feel of him. "I'm sorry. I should have... I can't believe I didn't realise that you would be... God, we shouldn't be doing this here. You should have a bed and--"

"No, no stopping. Don't you dare stop now."

He pushed in just a little further and she let out a soft cry, so he paused again and kissed her. He kept kissing her, licking into her mouth, distracting her until she was pushing back against him, restless and eager. She grunted when he pushed the whole way in, her eyes screwed tightly shut, and bit on his lip almost hard enough to break the skin, driving him nearly insane with want. He pulled out slowly, carefully, relishing her hiss of loss, and moved down her body, kissing the skin visible in the deep V of her nightdress, inhaling the scent of her. He pushed her nightdress to the tops of her thighs and glanced up.

 

\---

 

Cordelia's cheeks burned. She looked away, totally unable to meet his eyes. There was no way she could _do_ this, be open like this, let him in like this. But his hands were on her, Angel's big, strong, dangerous hands touching her like she was precious, and the simple thought of what he was about to do made her breath catch. She was throbbing, aching, a little sore inside, but she needed more. He was right there, rubbing his cheek on the inside of her thigh, the faintest scratch of stubble, kissing her reverently, his mouth open and wet. He moved higher, then his tongue, and it was _happening_. It was crazy, she couldn't believe people did this, but she was sure she'd never felt anything so good in her entire life. She wished she'd said yes to taking this somewhere else, somewhere more private, more suited to what they were doing, but instead she was threading her fingers through his hair, discovering how soft it was, hooking a leg over his shoulder and tilting her hips to him, asking for more. She could feel it building already, wave after wave, tightening her muscles, lifting her higher and higher, heat and pleasure swirling up through her body. When it finally hit, she had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop from crying out and it was only Angel's hold on her that stopped her from sliding right off the counter.

Angel eased her through it, his mouth still on her, making her buck under him. He looked up at her and there was the tiniest smear of blood at the corner of his mouth. It should have mortified her, the idea that he'd drunk her down, that he'd tasted her virgin blood -- that the vampire in him probably got off on it _hard_ \-- but as he looked up at her it was all Angel, his eyes shining almost black with want, no hint of the vampire, only heavy-lidded desire shining out of him.

"You..." she said, but her voice caught in her throat and she had no clue what she'd been about to say. She wasn't sure who moved first, but she was reaching down to him and Angel was on his feet. They were kissing again, deep and hard and it tasted different now, tasted like her, and that should have been so gross, but it just made her kiss him harder, her tongue in his mouth, because they were sharing this. She would never share this moment with anyone else. She kissed him with her whole body, wanting more, wanting all of him. Their kiss faltered and broke when he slipped inside her again, taking it slow, rocking into her. She leaned back, trusting him to hold her up, finding the rhythm and working with him. Angel growled, a real dog-growl low in his throat, and the sudden sound made her start, straining to see in the darkness. 

"Your arm. Is it--"

"Forget it," he said quickly, kissing her again. "It's nothing." He was watching her closely. He face hadn't changed, but his eyes were golden now, reflecting hints of light in the dimness.

"Ohmygod. You said that you-- I mean, I actually didn't think, can you believe it? Your soul. Is this enough to--"

"You don't remember us," he said, their foreheads touching, his eyes fluttering closed as he rolled his hips, making her bite on her lip to stifle a groan. "I won't be perfectly happy." He opened his eyes. "But this is a pretty close second."

Cordelia nodded, trying to tell him it was okay without saying a word. She kissed him, and kept kissing him, and let herself fall.


	29. Chapter 29

Spike gestured for her to advance. Cordelia steeled herself, tried to remember the move he'd just shown her, and attacked. She turned and ducked inside the circle of his arm, got an elbow in his gut, bent and flipped him onto the mat. She pinned him, triumphant, but Spike just rolled his eyes and reversed their positions easily, his forearm at her throat. She tapped his thigh, the only part of him she could reach from where he had her arm trapped under his knee, but he didn't budge.

"Spike, you're squashing me."

"So break out of it. I've shown you this a million times."

"I see that in your quaint and always amusing oldy-worldy version of my language, a million translates as _twice_." She struggled under him but got nowhere fast. He shifted his weight and suddenly it was a whole lot less fun and a whole lot more painful. "Spike, ow! Ow! Get off. Fucking _oww_!"

There was a sudden desperate flash of _sorry_ in his eyes, but he was still glaring at her as he took his weight off her, kneeling at her side. "You're not concentrating. There's no bloody point in me always going easy on you. You have to be able to take this head-on and break away clean. It's going to be a lot worse if someone's out for your blood."

"Way to get to the completely obvious heart of the matter." She got up on her elbows. "You ever think I'm holding back a little too?" He exhaled harshly, conveying his scepticism admirably. "I don't mean like I could hurt you, but it's weird for me to try, you know what I mean? I don't want to hack lumps out of you in the name of training."

"One, vampire, not even an issue. Two, what a load of bollocks. Why don't you just sling your hook then if you're not going to take this seriously?"

"Ugh, could you at least _try_ and remember that some of us only speak American?"

Spike growled. "I mean that you should just fuck off and not waste my time if you're not going to do this properly."

"What?!" She sat up, furious. "I am too doing this properly. I've listened to everything you've been saying."

"No, you bloody well haven't."

"Yes, I have! God, what is your _damage_?"

"I don't know why I'm even here. You're just arsing around. Wasting my time, doing what you please and damn the consequences."

A cold stone dropped into the pit of Cordelia's stomach. "Are we still talking about training?"

"Yes!" Spike spat. "No," he said, sounding unsure. "I don't know."

"Spike?"

"I'm... I'm just sick of you playing me and Angel off one another."

She dug her nails into the palm of her hand. "What? I wasn't."

"Oh, please. You're stringing him along and you're trying to do the same to me."

"No, I... I didn't mean to."

"So why do you let him follow you around like a lovesick puppy? Either take him in or just put him out of his misery."

"But I can't help that. He says... he says he loves me."

He pulled a face and looked away. "Jesus, I don't need to hear this."

"I don't know why he does. Why he still does. It feels... it kind of feels like I'm committing fraud or something. Identity theft. Whatever. I can't explain it." She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, miserable, hating that she had to defend herself when she hadn't chosen any of this, and yet had clearly started making all kinds of bad decisions and was beginning to hate herself for it. "I wasn't sure if you'd care."

"Like I'd _care_?" Spike looked at her like she was crazy. "That's rich. You knew very well that I--" He glared at her. "You know what? Fuck it. You're right. I don't even care."

He tried to push up from the floor, but Cordelia tackled him, harder than she ever had before, catching him off guard and knocking him onto his back. She straddled his waist and held him in place with one knee on his chest, regaining the upper hand.

"Delia, not now. I'm done."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. Isn't this what you wanted? My concentration?"

"Piss off, would you? This isn't a good idea right now."

"If you're angry with me, just tell me why. You're obviously jonesing for an argument. I happen to give great argument."

"Fine," he snapped, any remaining shreds of temper swept away. He pushed up suddenly, breaking out of her hold on him, and reversing their positions so she was flat on her back again. He grabbed her wrists and held them over her head, their faces inches apart. "You really want to know? You fucked Angel. You _fucked_ him. Last night, in the fucking _kitchen_ where I have to fucking _eat_. And I heard you."

"Oh," she said, her chest tight, not enough air in the room.

"Yeah. _Oh_. I heard you. And it stung. All right? I must have 'doormat' written on my forehead or something. We've been doing our thing for weeks now, longer even, dancing around each other while you keep me at arm's length and avoid him like the plague, always coming to me to complain about him, I might add. Then he jumps you and you just roll over and give it up for him like it's no big deal."

"It wasn't like--"

"Don't lie to me, Cordelia. I know what you did. I know what you gave him. It was a big deal."

"Oh. Oh, _god_. How could you..." She shook her head to stop the flow of words, because really, the details didn't matter. There'd been blood. Spike had probably known the second it happened. What did matter was: "I'm sorry."

He screwed up his face. "Don't... don't _apologise_ to me. Christ."

"But I am sorry. You're right." Her hands were on his chest, fisted on his shirt. She made herself relax, loosening her hold and spreading her hands on his chest, her fingertips brushing skin just above the neck of his t-shirt. "I don't really know what I'm doing," she said, her voice low, almost timid, like she was telling him a secret. "I'm not trying to do anything... underhanded. Not on purpose. I swear. It's not my style."

"You might not be doing it on purpose, but do you have any idea the effect you're having?"

She shook her head in tiny increments.

"What is it you want, Cordelia?"

On the surface, it was such a simple question. It was just the answer that she was having trouble with.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"That's no answer."

"I know. I'm still sorry."

Spike didn't say anything. Her gaze strayed to his mouth, waiting for him to speak, but she lingered a beat too long, and her chagrin faded into something else, something deeper and warmer. It was greedy and selfish and reckless, not to mention kind of slutty, considering, but she couldn't help herself. It was the only way she knew how to show him how confused she was right now. She licked her lips. "Can I...?"

"No," he said, his eyes flaring. "Don't you dare." 

Which really sounded more like a challenge than anything else to Cordelia, and she couldn't help but notice that he hadn't moved away.

What the hell was she doing? Two-timing was most definitely not her style -- she would still have cheerfully throttled Xander and Willow if given half a chance -- and yet here she was, not yet twenty-four hours after losing her precious virginity to one vampire before falling, quite literally, into the arms of another. And it was Spike, of all people. Spike, who she really, truly cared about, if he'd just stop pissing her off for more than five minutes. Spike, who really, truly seemed to care about her in return. Spike, who happened to be a pretty amazing kisser, who was angry enough with her to raise bruises when they trained, but who couldn't quite seem to push her away no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she'd been keeping him at a distance. The thought of that actually happening, of him turning his back on her, made her heart lurch in alarm.

"Spike," she whispered, unsure of herself. "Help me out here."

"With _what_?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

She lifted her head to him and they kissed once, barely more than a meeting of lips, but it took her breath away.

"You stupid girl," he said, clearly struggling against just giving in. "This'll end in tears, you know that?"

"It doesn't have to."

"No? What you think we can play happy families? You, me and Angel all living under one roof? That's not a set-up that ends well. You can trust me on that."

"It's all crazy, I know. But crazy's sort of all I know these days."

"Not good enough, Delia. You can't hand-wave this away. You can't hide it. He'll know. He'll be able to smell me on you, you think of that?"

Cordelia scratched her nails lightly over his throat just under his jaw and watched the muscle shift in his cheek. "Can you smell him on me?" she asked, making herself meet his gaze. Spike's eyes were clear, and she could see right through them, right to the heart of how much her question antagonised him.

"Yes," he hissed. "Yes, all right? It's all over you."

"All over my skin." Spike's gaze flicked to the neck of her shirt and the swell of her breasts underneath. "Inside me," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, shifting her hips against him and making him groan.

"When did you turn into such a wanton little trollop?" he asked, but the husk of his voice and the heat in his eyes saved it from being entirely an insult and more like an honest question.

"Honestly? I have no idea."

"You planning on hitting the brakes anytime soon?"

She took a shallow breath and shook her head, glancing again at his mouth. "You?"

Spike gave a tiny shake of his head. "No," he breathed. "God, no."

He kissed her, his hand on the back of her neck lifting her closer, his mouth open and wet and so good it made her want to cry out with the pleasure of it.

"We're really going to do this?" he murmured against her lips. It was all Cordelia could do to nod. "Okay. Okay, come with me."

Dazed and kiss-stupid, she let him pull her to her feet. "Where are we going?"

"Away. Angel finds us there'll be hell to pay. And I don't see a metaphorical purse about your person, so we all know whose hide he'll take it out of."

"Your metaphors are slipping."

"Yeah? Well, I'm horny as hell."

"That's not even a proper reason."

He pulled her close, catching her off guard, and tugged her hips against him snugly, letting her feel the hard length of him.

Cordelia swallowed. "That's a pretty good reason."

Spike drove her to some nameless hotel, breezing through the check-in process and managing to talk like a reasonably normal human being to the receptionist, never once letting go of Cordelia's hand. By the time they got to their room, most of the heat had worn off and left her feeling a little silly. She couldn't believe some of the things she said to him. She didn't feel like the grand, sexual predator anymore. She felt like Cordelia, the girl not even out of high school who'd had sex a grand total of once, not even twenty-four hours ago, with a different man. Vampire. Vampire-man. Which had been pretty freaking amazing and something she'd been looking forward to trying again in the very near future, but she hadn't really contemplated it being quite so soon, or with a vampire-man other than--

"Don't you dare stand there and think about Angel."

"I wasn't!" She started indignantly, then scowled as it was pretty pointless denying it. "How the hell did you know that?"

"Guilt. You know it crinkles the eyes. Gives you crow's feet."

She had her hand halfway to her face in horror before she managed to stop herself and smoothed out her expression. "This is me resolving to never be guilty about anything ever."

"Good," Spike said, and pulled his shirt over his head. He stood in front of her, all lean muscle and heroine-chic, and she knew how obvious it must have been that she was nervous. He didn't say anything, but took her hands and laid her palms on his chest. 

"This the part where you tell me you'll be gentle? That you'll stop whenever I want?"

Spike pulled a face. "Jesus Christ, this isn't Mills and Boon. You want to stop, walk away now, otherwise just drop your baggage at the door and be here with me, here and now. Be with me and nobody else."

She drew in a quick little breath and nodded, trying to be brave. 

"Delia..." Spike said, and his voice curled around her name, making it into a groan. He watched her for a long moment, his hands on her hips, just holding her. "I'll be gentle," he said softly. "I'll stop whenever you want."

Cordelia sighed as he gathered her close, closing her eyes and just letting his touch soothe her. He kissed her, and kept kissing her, drawing sighs out of her, never pushing too hard, soft touches to her neck, the small of her back, the inside of her elbows waking up her whole body and driving her crazy with the need for more. She walked him backwards towards the bed and crawled into his lap, looking down at him, her hands on his shoulders, her hair a dark curtain falling over his shoulder.

"Don't," she said and Spike froze. Cordelia shook her head, looking right into him. "No, not that. I mean you don't have to be gentle. I don't want you to stop. I'm not going to want you to stop."

"There's my girl," he said, and pulled her down onto the bed.


	30. Chapter 30

Spike had been expecting something explosive, something involving Angel throwing him up against a lot of hard surfaces then showing off his favourite ridiculous spinning kicks while Spike was too dazed to dodge them. Or perhaps something stealthy and dastardly, something Angelus would have been proud of, where Angel would attack him at high noon while Spike was sleeping, pouncing on him and beating the tar out of him before Spike had a chance to draw metaphorical breath. There'd probably be lots of the old faithfuls: blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud, and then the inevitable threatening Spike with a stake, just like Angel had done countless times before over the years. (The fact that Angel had never driven any of these stakes into Spike's heart was something Spike had never been able to fathom. He found it hard to believe that he hadn't pushed Angel over the line at least _once_ during all the time they'd known each other.)

So Spike had been avoiding sleep and was determined not to make himself vulnerable to attack. He had been tiptoeing around the hotel all day, catching himself doing it, and making himself stomp a little, just to show that he wasn't on tenterhooks waiting to see what Angel was going to do the second he figured out that Spike and Cordelia had done the deed.

And what a deed it had been. When Spike wasn't peering around corners, waiting for the other shoe to drop, he would catch himself daydreaming, smiling and generally feeling smitten and turned on in a way he hadn't since falling for Buffy, minus the stalking and violence and shame and one-sided awfulness. It felt good. For once, it even felt right.

Partially right, in a wrongish sort of a way. If one ignored the underhanded two-timing and possible corruption of a minor, depending on how a person was to look at it.

The trouble was, he had zero clue what was coming next. The whole situation was complicated, to say the least. He and Cordelia had parted company on good terms, the best of terms, but both of them had carefully avoided declarative statements about where they would go from there. Spike was all for monogamy -- delighted in it, truth be told -- but that didn't mean it was a black and white issue for him, and he was all too aware that their little love triangle was something he and Angel had been through before, more than once. Angel happened to have very good taste in partners. It wasn't Spike's fault he kept falling for them too. He just thought it would just be nice if he wasn't the one thrown out in the cold this time. He'd had enough of that to last him several lifetimes.

Spike had finally stopped expecting Angel to strike from out of nowhere when Angel finally caught up with him. Instead of pouncing, Angel managed to melt out of the shadows and even snuck in a bit of looming before Spike saw him out of the corner of his eye. He scrambled to his feet, spilling beer everywhere, and stood on the remote, which turned off the match he was watching, leaving them alone in silence.

"You and Cordelia."

To Spike's supreme annoyance, he felt suddenly, horribly guilty. "You figured it out, then, did you?"

"You weren't exactly subtle about it. I just thought after..." Angel sighed. "Spike, this isn't what I wanted. The sneaking around and no one happy and everything confusing and crazy. It isn't going to work."

"What isn't? What are you saying?" He cocked his head, wondering why Angel wasn't tearing his head off.

"I'm saying I don't want to live like this anymore."

Spike stared at him in disbelief. It certainly wasn't the worst thing Angel could have done, but it was so annoyingly ordinary, so calm and collected and rational that Spike was furious.

"You're throwing me out, is that it? Going to keep Cordelia under lock and key? That's your solution? You _wanker_. You're not our lord and master. This place, this fucking _mission_ , it belongs to all of us."

Angel narrowed his eyes. "You should really have thought of that before you slept with Cordelia."

Spike felt it like a slap to the face but refused to back down. "You know I thought that we'd actually figure out how to do this? Be good guys together, the only two souled vampires in all of creation, working and helping the stupid bastard helpless, and reminiscing over a beer about our chequered past. Christ, I thought we might figure out how to be _friends_. Just how stupid _am_ I? You'd think I would have learned by now."

"This was you wanting to be my _friend_?" Angel asked, sounding like he would never, as long as he lived, understand how Spike worked. He shook his head. "I may be shaky on the details, but last time I checked, friendship doesn't work that way. It won't work like that with us."

Spike considered punching him in the face. Fighting was well and good, but for once he found himself not particularly in the mood. He made a disgusted noise, looked around the room like it was the last time he'd be seeing it, and stormed out, going to throw his meagre possessions in a bag and clear out of the hotel, the city, this life once and for all.

Angel, annoying to the last, followed him. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm getting the hell out of Dodge."

"Just like that?"

Spike gave him an incredulous look as he did his best to storm up through the hotel to his room. "Yeah, just like that."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why_? Because you just got through telling me how you don't want me here and because I'm tired of playing second fiddle. Because I'm in love with your girlfriend," he said, his throat tight. "Because that's never worked out too well for us in the past, especially for me. Because much as I love annoying you, I think it's actually getting old." Angel cut him off, stepping in front of Spike's path. Spike drew up short and stared up at him. "Because I don't know how to live like this either. I feel so _old_ sometimes, Angel, and I don't know how to change like you want me to. I don't want to. I just wanted to live here, with you, with her. Guess I fucked that up right and proper. I don't think it's something I'm ever going to be able to -- Jesus Christ above what is that _smell_?"

For a second Angel's expression didn't waver from that hugely irritating hurt expression that Spike wanted to slap off his face -- because who the fuck was Angel to go for some complicated mind-game of epic guilt involving calm discussion and reasoned argument and looking like a kicked puppy? -- then he blinked and replayed what Spike had just asked and made a face like he simply couldn't believe how it was physically possible for Spike to be so unendingly frustrating. "What smell?"

"That smell."

"Don't change the subject. We're in the middle of a fight."

"Come off it. That wasn't a fight. That wasn't even close to the way that we fight, and I'm not changing the subject. It reeks. Can't you smell it?"

"Seriously? You really want to do this now? Because you smell something funky?"

"Yeah, but it's seriously funky," Spike said, screwing up his face. He scented the air. "It's coming from over here. This way." He stopped in front of a doorway and tried the handle. It was locked. "Open her up," he instructed.

"I don't have a key."

"Why not? It's your hotel."

"I don't have keys for lots of doors in this place. That's what comes of inheriting your place of residence from a Thesulac."

Cordelia rounded the corner and saw the two of them standing there. Her eyes widened and she came to an abrupt halt. Spike listened to the skip-beat of her heart and admired the pretty way her cheeks coloured the moment she saw them. She smiled, a few shades too brightly, her eyes wide and startled. "Do I want to know what a Thesulac is?"

"Paranoia Demon," Angel said. "Long story."

"It's like I don't even want to know." She crinkled her nose. "What is that stink?"

"Maybe it's a cat," Spike suggested.

"The Thesulac?" Angel asked.

"No, stupid. The smell."

"A cat?"

"A dead one. Or a racoon. I hear sometimes they climb into buildings, can't get out and die. Illyria's been making all kinds of friends out in the garden at night."

"She's encouraging vermin?" Angel asked, sounding horrified.

"Don't let her hear you calling them vermin," Spike said. "She was all for eradication at first, but one of them spoke to her or something."

"A talking racoon?"

"Metaphorically, you ass. Like, she saw something worthwhile in it."

"Oh," Angel said. "I knew that."

Spike rolled his eyes. "So we've got an infestation. Wonderful. Super. Full marks for the great timing. Bags I don't deal with that one. Bit too run of the mill for me. I draw the line at demons; I'm not chasing around after little bitty mammals. Angel can do it. You're good at catching rats."

Angel growled. Cordelia held up her hand to stop them. "Can we just find out what the smell is before we jump to any conclusions? And then we can..." She looked up and caught Spike's gaze. She shifted her weight and glanced at Angel. "Ugh. There's way too much drama happening here, even for me. But I think that stink is stinky enough that it beats drama into second place."

"Fine," Angel snapped. "I'll go look for a key."

"Sod that," Spike said, and kicked the door open.

The room inside was dark, no furniture, little more than a store room, an open air vent in the far corner.

"There's your problem," Spike said, pointing at a small heap of tufted fur in a dim corner. "Dead cat. Told you. And if Illyria's turning into a crazy old cat lady, the place'll be crawling with them in no time. What a spiffing way to spend the evening," he said, walking into the room, looking for a light switch. He didn't make it more than a few steps before he was hit with a terrible pain, shocking enough to make his vision white out. He fell forward, stumbling and falling against the far wall.

 

\---

 

"What the-- Spike!" Angel started forward, reaching out for Spike, but as soon as his hand crossed the threshold of the room, he drew back sharply, crying out in pain.

"Spike!" Cordelia yelled, glancing around the doorway like it might rear up and bite her. "What's wrong with you? Get out of there. Spike!"

Spike turned his head to look at them, fully vamped out, his eyes hooded and yellow.

"What the hell?" Cordelia said, starting forward only to have Angel hold her back. "What's happening to him?"

Spike's hair was getting longer, growing in front of their eyes, his cheeks hollowing out, beard starting to appear, his skin turning shockingly pale and waxy.

"Shit," Angel breathed. "I'll get him."

Cordelia grabbed hold of his sleeve. "That started when he walked in that door. And look at your arm!" It dangled at Angel's side, aching and near useless. "No way you're going in there too. We have to get him out. Get a rope, a broom, a freaking walking stick, I don't know, but get it now." Spike rolled over and started crawling for the door, his eyes riveted on Cordelia. Her blood ran cold. She didn't complain when Angel put himself between her and the doorway. "Why is he looking at me like that?"

Spike was barely recognisable. His skin hung over his bones like a shroud; his hands hooked and gnarled as he clawed his way towards them.

"It's like he's aging," Angel said. "Look at him. He's wasting away."

"So he's just going to get worse the longer he stays in there?"

"Looks like."

"And this extreme concentration on me, that would be major hunger, right? Starvation kind of thing? Not like: I must see you one last time before I die? More like: I no longer see you as anything more than a big, juicy bag of blood?"

"Stay with me," Angel said. He grabbed her hand and dragged her with him up the hallway. He opened a door seemingly at random to a room she vaguely recognised, the one with all the weapons stacked on the bed. Angel grabbed a long spear with a hook at the end beside the blade, and together they dashed back to Spike. Angel kept her behind him, and reached into the room with the spear, hooking it on Spike's shoulder, tearing his shirt and scratching his shoulder but finding purchase.

Spike let out a horrible groan, batting ineffectively at the spear at his shoulder, but it didn't distract him for long. His eyes turned again to Cordelia, and he reached out to her instead. She could see nothing of Spike in him. He looked more like a zombie or a ghoul than a vampire, and it made Cordelia's breath hitch to see it. Angel heaved and dragged Spike halfway to the door.

Cordelia had tight hold of Angel's shirt tails without even realising it, willing him to pull Spike out faster. "Why do you have an evil room, anyway?"

"I didn't know it was evil! I've never opened this door before."

"When we're done here, you seriously need to do some serious stocktaking of your seriously stupid hotel."

"Agreed," Angel said, snarling with frustration when Spike grabbed at the pole and this time managed to rip it free of his shirt. "Sorry about this, Spike," he said, and reached again, this time jamming the hook right through Spike's shoulder. He pulled and Spike slid almost to the door.

Spike growled and thrashed on the floor, and the hook slipped free as he twisted. Angel swore and tossed the spear to one side. He and reached into the room for Spike, vamping out almost immediately, his teeth bared, snarling in pain. He grabbed hold and yanked Spike out of the room. They fell in a sprawl on the floor, knocking Cordelia backwards against the wall. She could only watch with wide eyes as Spike hauled himself up Angel's body and sank his teeth into Angel's throat.

She cried out in alarm and tried to drag Spike off. He was a less substantial than usual, but he was intent on drinking, his clawed fingers sunk deep into Angel's chest. But it was enough to make Spike lift his head, his deadened eyes flaring with interest when he registered the presence of a human within striking distance. He lunged for her, but Angel grabbed hold of him and wrestled him back. He pushed Spike's face into the floor, and kept him there with an arm twisted behind his back and all Angel's weight holding him down.

"Cordelia, you need to get out of here _now_."

"But I--"

"I can handle this, go!

"Shit, crap, okay, crap. You need anything?"

"Blood. Bring some blood. Bring lots of blood. Actually, bring all the blood." Spike snarled and heaved Angel off his back, leaping for Cordelia with his fangs bared. Angel grabbed handfuls of his shirt but it tore, the cloth weakened, so Angel grabbed Spike's hair, wound it around his fist, and slammed Spike back to the floor. He glanced at the nearest bedroom. "I'll keep him in there. Leave the blood outside and then go lock yourself in your bedroom. It's the safest place in the building."

She nodded, not moving, her eyes locked on Spike.

"Now would be a really good time to get moving, Cordelia."

"Right, right, going."

 

\---

 

Angel tossed Spike into the nearest room and locked the door. Spike stared up at him from the floor, hissing and trying to get to his feet but he didn't seem to have the strength. Without thought Angel pulled his shirt over his head and crouched down to Spike's eye level. Then he bared his throat.

Spike didn't even hesitate. He latched on, biting deep and drinking steadily.

Angel heard Cordelia arrive, and had to hold Spike down when he heard it too. Angel waited until he heard her bedroom door close and lock before he went out to retrieve the blood she'd left. Spike didn't have coordination to drink from the bags, bursting the first one all over himself, wasting half of the second in his haste. So Angel drank them down, gorging himself, and made Spike drink from him. He sat with his back to the wall, Spike cradled between his legs, dizzy and hard with the feeling of glutting himself on blood, an eager mouth at his throat, fangs piercing his skin over and over again. Slowly, slowly Spike's deathly pallor faded, and his flesh began to heal. He was still horribly waxy and grey, but he no longer looked like the walking dead.

He blinked, his eyes back to their usual startling blue, and he focused with difficulty on Angel's face. "Angel?" he croaked, the first word he'd spoken in over an hour.

"It's okay. Just drink. I'll explain later, okay? Just drink."

Spike did sleep later, when their entire blood supply was gone and Angel felt like an exhausted pincushion, tingling and elated from the blood-sharing. He laid Spike on the bed, cleared away the worst of the spilled blood and put his shirt back on, not risking leaving Spike alone, even to check on Cordelia. It was mid-afternoon when Spike finally opened his eyes.

"Angel?" he said, his voice rough. "What the hell happened? How long was I asleep?"

Angel glanced at his watch. "About sixteen hours."

"Jesus, my bones feel like they're made of broken glass. Must have been some bender." He lifted a hand to rub his face and started when he felt his beard. He sat bolt upright when he caught sight of his hair trailing off the side of the bed, dark blond brightening to peroxide at the tips. "What the--? Jesus Christ! Angel, what the fuck happened to me? Why do I feel like Rip Van Winkle?"

"What do you remember?"

"We were talking about... You didn't knock me out, did you? Tie me to the bed and break my feet with a sledgehammer to get me to stay? Angel, sweetheart, you know all you have to do is ask."

Angel stared at him levelly. "After that. The room with the dead cat."

Spike frowned in thought. "Yeah. Ball of dead fluff. I was going to..." He shook his head. "I don't remember."

"You strong enough to get up?"

Spike wriggled a little on the bed, like he was checking each part of his body in turn. He nodded.

"Well, then. I think it's time we took serious stock of our seriously stupid hotel."

\---

The two of them peered into the room, taking care not to cross the threshold.

"You think it got in through that vent?" Spike asked.

"Must have. There's no other way into this room."

"The cat, it's gone." Spike sniffed the air. "I can't even smell it. Did you do a clear up?"

"No one's been in there since you went all Night of the Living Dead on us."

"Less of the zombie metaphors. I've still got my pride."

"And Barbie's hair."

"Bite me," Spike said, with no real heat to it, and took Angel by the wrist. "You reached in here for me, didn't you? Look at this. Your nails are longer. Does it hurt?"

Angel opened and closed his fist a few times. "It did. It aches now, but it's fading a little."

"Mm. I feel like that all over, multiplied by about a thousand, I'd wager. Hey, how come my nails don't look like that? They should be about a mile long."

"I cut them while you were asleep."

Spike looked up at him, surprised. "Did you now."

Angel pulled his hand out of Spike's grasp. "Everything grew: hair, nails, everything. You were starving to death. Only reason you weren't dead inside minutes is because you're a vampire."

Spike looked thoughtful. "So, what you're telling me is... What is it you're telling me, exactly?"

Angel held up the apple he'd retrieved from the kitchen. He rolled it into the room. It stopped in the middle of the floor. They both watched as it grew puckered and wizened, then collapsed in on itself and after a few minutes disappeared entirely. "I'm telling you that time goes faster in this room."

"You've been living here how long and you didn't know that you had a room that did that?"

"Hey, there are a lot of rooms here I've never even been in."

"You might want to get on that if there are special magic rooms dotted all over. This is what you get for moving into a hotel where the last owner was a paranoid demon."

"A paranoia demon."

"Whatever."

"Cordelia said the same thing about checking the place out. I might need a guinea pig."

"You better be being literal."

"I was thinking we could work our way through the floor plan, make sure there are no other nasty surprises." He nodded decisively.

Spike pointed at him. "Literal guinea pigs, Angel. I'm serious."


	31. Chapter 31

Instead of guinea pigs, Angel paid a hefty fee to a local wiccan and got himself a crystal that glowed in the presence of any and all harmful magic. Three other rooms in the hotel made it light up, so Angel dutifully marked the doors with big red Xs, locked them, and circled them on the floor plans of the hotel, to be examined at a later date.

The room where time moved faster was the priority. They tried a spell to fix it, which did nothing, as the apples and oranges Angel rolled into the room continued to rot and decay before their eyes. They tried another spell, with similar results. The third spell caused a minor explosion, which would have been alarming, but the fire burned itself out in seconds and did little damage to the room itself beyond a few scorch marks.

"This is stupid," Angel said, rubbing his forehead in frustration and leaving a streak of black behind. "I wish Wesley was here."

"We could always give Willow a bell," Spike said, eyeing the black streak and not saying a word about it.

"How about we lock the door, hang a sign, and ignore it until a solution presents itself?" Cordelia suggested.

Angel hung a new door. Then he locked it and hung a Do Not Enter sign.

Illyria appeared as he was admiring his handiwork. She leaned on the door like she was listening for something, then opened it like the lock didn't even exist, splintering the frame and denting the plaster. She splayed her palm in the air just at the threshold of the room, flexing her fingers against the invisible boundary. 

"Fascinating," she said, "but of limited use and little consequence."

"Little _consequence_?" Spike said. "How about I give you a little bitty push and see how you fare?"

She turned to face them and noticed Angel staring at her, eyes wide, lips a white line, pointing at his shattered lock.

"Forgive me," she said, and Angel's mouth fell open in surprise.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Don't get too carried away, mate. She's practising apologies this week. Don't think she's got the hang of actually meaning it, but she carries the tone off well, don't you think?"

Angel gave up on locks and nailed the door shut. Spike declared it a done deal, and disappeared to go and take a long shower, shave, and cut his hair, making a huge mess of one of the bathrooms re-dying it. Cordelia took the path of least resistance and went back to avoiding both of them, hiding out in her room. Illyria stole some of Angel's tools when he wasn't looking and disappeared back upstairs.

When things were quiet and he was done with his hair, Spike went to Angel's room. He let himself in without knocking, walked up to Angel and pulled open the collar of Angel's shirt. He frowned at the messy bitemarks covering Angel's throat and shoulders, only half-healed.

"Jesus. I really did a number on you."

Angel tugged his collar back into place and set the stack of laundry he'd been putting away on his bed. "It's okay," he said. "You weren't yourself."

"No," Spike said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, unconsciously touching the one spot on his throat where Angel had bitten him when the blood-bags had run out, sharing their blood back and forth, an unbroken circle. "It was..." He let out a breath. "I hadn't done that in a while. A long while."

"Me neither," Angel admitted. "I didn't think you'd remember."

"Not the sort of thing one forgets. I just... Thanks, I guess."

Angel's gaze was on the floor, and he was halfway to saying something that would no doubt be self-effacing and annoyingly humble, so Spike kissed him, soft and a little unsure. When Angel drew in a surprised breath, Spike bit his own lip, just enough to draw blood: an offering, if Angel wanted to take it. Angel let out a soft sound and sucked on Spike's lip, making it more of a kiss, his hand cupping the back of Spike's head.

They finally broke apart and Spike tried not to squirm under Angel's heavy gaze.

"You just kissed me," Angel said.

"Kind of thought that was what you were angling for."

Angel took a moment to process this. "I have no clue how your head works, you know that? The old me would have wanted to take you apart, see how you tick."

Spike shrugged, a tiny part of him wondering if maybe that was what had made Angelus keep him around all those years. "It's all part of my charm."

"What about Cordelia?"

"I was thinking we could maybe put a new spin on the whole disastrous love triangle thing that we do. Minus the disaster this time. More triangle."

"You've been thinking about this."

"Little bit, yeah. I actually thought maybe it was in the air before you tried kicking me out."

"If you'd given me half a chance to talk instead of giving me all those impassioned speeches, kicking you out wasn't where I was going with that. I think I was actually going to suggest the triangle thing."

"I was waiting for you to beat me up."

"I did consider it. You slept with my girl."

"I couldn't help it. She gets under your skin."

"You were just going to leave without a fight."

Spike scowled and slanted his gaze away. "I never win those sorts of fights. I was trying to do the right thing. Then your seriously stupid hotel threw a dead cat at me. Got kind of distracted."

"You really think we can do this. The three of us. It's not normal. They make tv shows about people who do this."

"Yeah, well, let's not do that. And since when do we give tuppence about normal? It really depends on Cordelia, who may not be as open as you and I to the idea."

"She might be. Humans are funny these days. You never know what they'll go for."

"Welcome to the future."

"She called me a fuddy duddy."

"You _are_ a fuddy duddy."

Angel frowned. "We have to be careful with her."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "I remember you saying you'd kill me if I touched her."

"I know. That was me being careful with her."

"We may want to work on our definition of normal."

"We're never going to be normal, no matter how hard we try."

"Then what? I want her." Spike busied himself looking for his cigarettes so he didn't have to look at Angel to say, "I'm pretty sure I've always wanted you, god help me. How exactly are we supposed to make this okay? We're shit at making things okay. All we do is fight and bicker and fuck each other up." He found his cigarettes, the pack squashed and nearly empty.

"I want to make it work," Angel said in a low voice. He took the cigarettes out of Spike's hand and tossed them on the nearby bedside table. Something hot and achy uncoiled deep in Spike's stomach.

"Look at you," Spike said with a smile curving up one side of his mouth. "All cocksure and gun-shy."

"I don't... I didn't want to share."

"What? Both of us?" Spike couldn't help it; he began to laugh. "Jesus, Angel, you're such an awkward bastard. If you were any more heavy-handed about things your arms would fall off."

Angel looked at him, hurt and a little grumpy. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you always go about everything arseways. You want us both but we're not allowed each other? Plus you haven't showed any interest in me in fifty years or more, you turn me down when I practically offer it to you on a plate, and now suddenly you're back in the game. You know you could just have tried asking."

Angel looked a little taken aback. "I could?"

Spike's laughter faded to a smile. "You could."

There was a long pause. "Can I?"

Spike spread his arms. "Knock yourself out."

Angel kissed him again, deep and consuming, taking his time over it. He walked Spike backwards towards the bed. The pile of laundry got launched into the air when they fell onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs.

"God, I've been wanting to do this for months," Angel said, biting at Spike's jaw. "Wanted to just hold you down and fuck you."

Spike raised his hips, looking for friction. "Now you're talking."

"Anything to shut you up."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Now you really better be ready put your money where your mouth is. You got any slick?"

Angel shook his head, kissing Spike's throat, paying particular attention to his fading bitemark. "This isn't something I get around to doing very often."

Spike shivered and lifted his chin, giving Angel better access. "Ah, yes. Been meaning to ask: you think that curse of yours is going to be an issue at any point?"

Angel hesitated. "I've been thinking about that."

Spike went still underneath him, waiting. "You have."

"Yeah. You think that the fact that I know the loophole exists and I know what'll happen if I am ever truly happy, you think that's enough to make sure that it never happens?"

"Like you can't be happy because you know what'll happen if you're happy? Uh, yes? Maybe?"

"At least not while I'm having sex." Angel pulled Spike's shirt over his head and lowered his head to bite at a nipple.

Spike hissed and kicked off his boots, trying to get his hands inside Angel's clothes at the same time. "So we have to make sure it doesn't happen over tea and cakes on some random rainy Tuesday afternoon in this fuzzy future we're building for ourselves, with you, me and Cordelia all warm and squishy and in love is what you're saying?"

"Something like that." Angel yanked open the fly of Spike's jeans and tugged them down to his knees.

"Then we'd better make sure we annoy you _all the time_ to stop things from getting too sappy."

"I knew I could count on you." Angel touched two fingers to Spike's lips. "Get them good and wet."

Spike did as he was told. Angel watched him closely, his eyes liquid and dark. "That's enough," he said, sliding his hand lower, right to where Spike wanted it most.

"Angel, love," Spike said, turned on and breathless. "We've got forever and a day to take our time. But right now, just fuck me, will you?" 

Spike tried to turn around but Angel grabbed at his hip to stop him.

"No," Angel said. "Like this. Want you like this."

Spike nodded, impatient, opening Angel's pants and pushing them down around his thighs.

"Lemme..." Spike said, his mouth already busy, making it wet and sloppy, doing his best to make Angel as slippery as possible.

Angel let Spike have his way for a while, but it wasn't long before he pushed him back on the bed. Spike braced himself against the wall with one hand and wrapped his legs around Angel's waist. When Angel pushed inside, Spike gasped, his body arched, shocked still. Angel's gaze never left him, serious and searching. They rocked together, foreheads touching, finding their rhythm. Spike was greedy for it, urging Angel on, murmuring filthy little things about all the things he wanted Angel to do to him, how good it was, how long he'd been waiting. Angel vamped out when he was getting close and tried to turn his face away, but Spike was having none of it.

"Bite me again," he whispered, baring his throat. "Right here. Fuck, Angel, I love you. Just fucking do it."

Angel snarled and bit down, coming and drinking, his hand fisted in Spike's hair. He didn't stop thrusting until Spike cried out and his whole body went taut under Angel's weight.

They separated slowly, lying side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Spike stretched out his body, enjoying the faint burn of his muscles, the ache of the new bite, the slippery mess that Angel had left inside him.

Angel glanced over, looking oddly contrite for a man with amber eyes and blood on his fangs. "You okay?"

"Oh god, yes. You and your perfect fucking cock. I'm so glad to see that some things never change."

"Oh. Good. You're welcome," Angel said, smiling up at the ceiling, his face fading back to human.

"Don't be such a smug bastard, Angel. It's unbecoming."

"Next time you can return the favour."

Spike sat up, suddenly very interested. "The hell you say. You never let me do that before."

"Some things do change."

Spike grinned. "I'll hold you to that. Now pass me my cigarettes, there's a love." Angel passed them over and Spike lit up. "So. Months, huh?"

Angel did his best to look nonchalant. "On and off."

"I'm just curious. How were you thinking this would go? You'd what? Beat the shit out of me at least, right?" Spike asked, only half-serious.

Angel twisted his lips, put out, and looked away.

"That was it, wasn't it!" Spike crowed. "What was it? You going to play the angry sire routine? All moonlight and violence and taking what you wanted in the heat of the moment."

"I am your sire, sort of. And I am angry."

"No, you're not." Spike grinned. "But you know I love all that possessive bullshit. Give us a kiss, then."

"You're such an ass, you know that?"

"You love it. Kiss me."

"I don't know. You're kind of killing the mood."

"You love my moods," Spike insisted.

"Your moods make me crazy. You and Cordelia both make me crazy. I must be crazy."

"You're a lucky son of a bitch is what you are."

"Sometimes." Angel sighed. "That's usually when things start to go horribly wrong."

"Oh, god. Can we at least postpone the maudlin reflection until we're out of bed?" Spike blew out a stream of smoke. "Nothing's going to go wrong. Not if we take pains not to royally fuck it up. And speaking of things going horribly wrong, it wasn't you who just got magically aged a few decades. Hey, you think this makes me older than you now?"

Angel frowned. "I highly doubt it."

"Could be," Spike said, warming to his subject. "I could be the elder vampire now. That would make me stronger than you."

"It doesn't work that way."

"No? Want to arm wrestle for it?"

"This is a really stupid conversation. Even for us."

"It's better than fighting."

"You said you loved me."

Spike coloured. "I say a lot of stupid things when I'm fucking."

"I think I like you when we're fucking."

"Well, good," Spike said, taking another drag. "Because we'll be doing lots of that."

"We might want to work on our pillow-talk."

Spike snorted. "I couldn't agree more. But I have a question."

"Hm."

"How are we going to broach this little subject with Cordelia?"

"That's a good question."

"Thought you'd like it."

"How about we just let it happen... organically."

"That's a crappy answer. She's not a vegetable. And she's not a vampire. She's a _teenager_ , for god's sake," he said like it was the worst thing in the world. "When will we learn?" he added with a sigh. "You know she's all over the shop at the minute." He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Angel. "It's tearing her up that she thinks she's cheating on you, but she just can't keep her hands off my hot, tight little body."

"Hm," Angel said, stealing Spike's cigarette and taking a drag.

"So you're saying we seduce her."

"I didn't say anything at all. I was thinking."

"And I got bored listening to all those rusty cogs grinding," Spike said, stealing his cigarette back.

"You think that'll work?"

"Absolutely. Seduction is one thing I know we're good at." He crushed out his cigarette and rolled over. "Now come here and let me return that favour."


	32. Chapter 32

Cordelia did her best to stride into the lobby, but the best she was able to manage was sidling. She busied herself repositioning a long dead pot plant, swiping dust off the corner of a picture frame, and generally waited to be seen. Angel was in his office, the door open, his feet up on the desk, looking through some old files. Spike was lounging at the front desk, a steaming mug at his elbow, a newspaper open in front of him -- no doubt at the crossword page -- but the newspaper seemed long forgotten. Instead Spike was wholly occupied with watching Angel work, and doing it quietly for once: no commentary, no insults, just watching.

Cordelia looked back and forth between them. Neither of them noticed her presence. She kept looking. Her eyes narrowed. "Am I missing something here?" she demanded, making both vampires raise their heads. "Why aren't we fighting? Are we pretending like nothing happened? Is that what we're doing now?"

Spike and Angel shared a look that she couldn't interpret. Spike tossed his newspaper to one side and Angel came out from behind his desk.

Cordelia held her ground. "Just don't go all weird and possessive vampire whatever on me," she said. "Or tell me that you're all old and way too experienced and jaded and you don't actually care. And don't start talking about who has to leave. I can take yelling. I deserve yelling. I think we all deserve some yelling. But I couldn't take that."

Angel and Spike shared another indecipherable look that made Cordelia grit her teeth. They moved closer, wearing matching expressions that didn't seem angry or betrayed or worried or any of the other million scary things she'd been expecting. It was more like she was a horse they didn't want to spook, and it made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

"Cordelia," Angel said. "We wanted to--"

They all started at the sound of someone trying to open the front door of the hotel, shaking it against the locks that had been bolted for weeks. Then came a rapid and incessant knocking. Then the phone started ringing.

Spike sucked in a breath, his cheeks hollowing out in annoyance. "This is so bloody typical. Does anybody else find this really bloody typical?"

Angel frowned, torn. "I'd better get that. We're still Angel Investigations, after all. I mean, it was really just a matter of time, right?"

"Right," Cordelia said, doing her best to ignore the weird ache in her chest. "I guess. Uh, do I answer the phone? Is that what I do here?"

"You did," Angel said. "Sometimes. If you think that's something you could do again."

"I guess so. I mean, it's just talking on the phone right? What's the worst that could-- vision!" The pain hit her like a sledgehammer, taking her knees out from under her. The ground rushed up towards her, but before she landed strong arms caught her. Angel's chest was just as broad as she remembered it; the concern on his face just as unexpected and touching.

"Jesus Christ," she heard Spike say. "Ever get the feeling the universe is trying to tell you something?" He appeared at her side, his hands hovering but not quite touching her.

"Demon," she gasped, clutching her head. "Ginormous demon. There are horns and sharp tusky things, and oh my god he's _huge_. He's all shoulders. He's in a church, I think. A big white building, kind of round. It's an auditorium with a big projection screen in front. But the people, Angel. He's just attacking them. There's blood. Just... blood everywhere. They can't get out and they're so scared."

"Okay, okay." Angel held her close, rocking her. "It's okay. We're going to take care of it. We'll find the church and we'll go. Spike, can you go answer the door?"

"Stuff the door," he said, his eyes on Cordelia. "It's your little detective agency. You answer it."

"That's the thing about having a mission, Spike. You don't get to pick and choose when you want in the game. Here," he said, passing Cordelia over carefully. "Take care of her."

Spike scowled but helped Cordelia to the couches outside Angel's office.

"He's right, you know."

Spike's scowl deepened. "Don't you start on me, too," he snapped. "I know he is, all right? I'm still working on my mission-side manner. Consider me chagrined."

She lay back gratefully and turned her face into the cushions, ignoring the musty smell. "Oh my god. I need drugs. The good drugs. This is hell."

"Okay, stay here. I'll be right back."

She was vaguely aware of Angel leading a very distraught someone into his office, and the blessed quiet when the phone finally stopped ringing, although a small part of her felt very guilty that no one had gotten around to answering it. She swallowed down all the pills Spike brought her without looking at them and drank half a glass of water in one go, her hands shaking. 

Angel reappeared, halfway into his coat, his favourite broadsword in his hand. "Cordelia, that's Mrs Webber in the office. If you feel up to it you could go sit with her."

"What's her deal?"

"Her son goes to church every Sunday in the Angelus Temple. That's where your demon is. When it attacked her son called her to tell her loved her and to say goodbye."

A tear slid down Cordelia's cheek. Her head felt like it was cracking open. "And she-she just believed him when he said it was a demon?"

"She said they're very close and he'd never lie to her, not about something like this. Plus she's one quarter Vanglash demon on her mother's side so it wasn't much of a stretch."

"And her son? He's still alive?"

Angel's jaw tightened. "That's what we're going to find out."

Spike got to his feet. "The Angelus Temple. I think I know it. Over on Glendale? But 'Angelus'? Is this weird? Is this a thing?"

"I hope not," Angel said. "Here's hoping not everything's about sending me a message."

"Here's hoping indeed, you enormous big-head," Spike said, accepting the sword Angel handed him from the weapons cabinet.

"It's ten minutes away," Angel said. "Let's get going."

"Five minutes if I drive," Spike said. 

Angel threw the car keys at him. Spike snatched them out of the air and stared at them in his hand in surprise. 

"Be careful," Cordelia said. "Both of you. All previous heartfelt pleas about not dying horribly still stand. We owe each other a massive screaming match."

"I'd settle for an animated discussion," Angel said. 

She smiled faintly. "That works, too."

Spike grudgingly nodded his head. "But don't count out the screaming entirely. There's a lot to be said for the occasional scream. Are we asking the Blue Meanie to come with?"

"I await our departure," Illyria said, standing by the main doors, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. "As usual you are wasting valuable time."

"Well, then, pet," he said, as he unlocked the padlock, unbolted the door and gestured her out with a sweep of his hand. "I guess we're back in business."

 

\---

 

"Ugh, seriously! This is all I ever do these days," Cordelia announced the second they got back. She had the first aid kit sitting on the reception desk and a stack of blood-bags beside it. Spike grabbed one, tore off the cap, and drank gratefully. "You go off and get beaten up and come back all bloody and miserable and gross, and I sit around fretting like a ditched prom date with a migraine."

Angel was busy checking the locks on the hotel doors. When he turned to face her, Cordelia sucked in a breath at the huge gash slicing open his cheek, stretching from his jaw to the corner of his eye. 

"Thank your lucky stars you're a vampire, buddy," she said, her voice not quite steady. "Or your modelling career would be _over_. You need stitches?" Angel shook his head. "Thank god for that." She rooted through the first aid kit for a large piece of gauze and some tape, then gestured him over to sit.

"You feeling better?" he asked quietly, giving her a soft smile when she nodded. 

"I'm fine," Spike said, coming up for air. "Thanks for asking." He went back to sucking down the remainder of his blood.

"I, too, remain unscathed," Illyria added. "Though I offer no thanks to my companions."

"Hey," Spike said, the nozzle of the blood-bag between his teeth, "we absolutely stopped you from getting mauled."

"Your tactics were weak and your incessant grandstanding continues to provide your enemy with openings for attack."

"Grandst--!" Spike gaped at her, wondering if he would ever truly get a handle on her, if any of them would. "Those are highly honed distractionary techniques, I'll have you know. I stopped him chopping off your hand, if you remember."

Illyria raised a hand and curled her fingers. "I was interested to see if it would grow back."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "They don't always."

"Where's Mrs Webber?" Angel asked.

"Hold here," Cordelia said, placing the gauze on his cheek, grimacing as she did her best to pull the two sides of the wound together. "She left. Her son got out after you did your distractionary thing. He called and she went to go meet him. Apparently he was very complimentary. She left you a cheque with some lovely zeroes on it, and said thank you about a million times. She cried all over me."

"That's nice," Angel said.

"There's a prophecy," Cordelia said as she smoothed down tape over Angel's bandage.

"You get another vision?" Spike asked.

Cordelia pointed at her own face and drew a circle in the air around it. "See this? Not just a pretty face. I can read big words in books and everything. And when you guys go out heroing I have nothing to kill but time, so I did a little research. Plus Mrs Webber was really handy with the translations. But after what we found, she's kind of thinking about moving to Wisconsin."

"What did you find?" Angel asked. 

"There's this whole thing about a demon army being sacrificed to raise a beast. Their banishment equals his freedom. This is a beast that injury cannot kill, that grows stronger the longer he fights, who feeds on fear and the clash of battle, and has a real zing for crushing the strong and the weak and helpless alike. Or something along those lines. The prophecy was written in really bad rhyming couplets. I think they were going for form over substance."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Spike said, his voice going a little squeaky. "So we get rid of an entire frigging unstoppable army just to get lumbered with Mr Unkillable?"

"Everything's killable, Spike," Angel said. "Everything."

"So says the man who tried stabbing the beast with its own horn and nearly got decapitated for his trouble."

Angel gave a little shrug. "That works sometimes."

Spike wasn't impressed. "So there's a power vacuum. Good-o. Like we couldn't have just enjoyed the downtime a while longer. Some of us had _plans_."

"The other people in the church," Cordelia said. "What happened?"

"Like I said: highly honed distractionary techniques. We got batted around a lot while they all made a run for it."

"And this massive unkillable demon, where is it now?" 

"He bested us all too easily," Illyria said, standing in front of the weapons cabinet, running her fingertips over the polished blades on display. "Our attacks did little to slow him down. He laughed and declared us unworthy. He turned his back." She curled her lip and pulled a butterfly sword from its holder. "The _audacity_."

"So he's just out there roaming the streets, laying the smack-down on innocent passers-by and getting stronger with every battle? Are we going to need to call Buffy again?"

"I wouldn't say that," Spike said, giving her a look that he hoped spoke volumes about what he thought of the idea of calling Buffy again. "Look, it sounded like he's got this plan for wiping out life pretty much everywhere, lower beings not being high on his list of favourite things. So while he's not exactly trembling in his boots at the prospect of crossing paths with us again, he did swear bloody death on us all for being repugnant upstarts or some such. And, uh, on our extended families and loved ones. Something about the weak and helpless, I believe." He flashed a wide but unconvincing smile. "I'm sure he'll show up soon."

Cordelia stared at him, horrified. "And what's stopping him from following you here to do just that?"

"Well," Spike said, glancing at Angel. "We didn't _see_ him following us here."

"And the wards are still in place," Angel said.

"And that'll be enough? That'll keep him out?"

"Yes," Angel said firmly. 

"Good," Cordelia said, her voice rising. "Great. Super. Hope you're right. Because if you'll all look behind you, I can see a massive demon who looks a smidge unkillable standing right outside."

The three supernatural beings in the room spun around to look at where Cordelia was pointing at the doors to the courtyard. A large demon was clearly visible through the clear glass.

"I want it officially noted that tonight sucks," Spike said, throwing off his duster and going for his sword. "And I don't like all this sudden showdown nonsense either. I like a bit of time to work up to these things when it's one of the big guys we're going up against. End of level bad guys are supposed to wait until the _end of the level_ , leaving us time for plotting and researching and licking our wounds and drinking in darkened rooms and whatnot."

"Duly noted," Angel said, his eyes on the door. "Cordelia, run."

"My room?"

Angel gave a single nod. "Safest place in the building."

"But he's not getting in here, right? You said so. Wards and all, right?"

"Right," Angel said. "Absolutely."

The demon grinned, an alarming flash of sharp uneven teeth, and advanced. He reached the door and pushed. He frowned in at them as the chains rattled against the wood but nothing else happened.

"See?" Angel said. "What did I tell you? Safe as houses."

The demon put his shoulder to the door and heaved. There was a crackle of white light and the faint scent of ozone. The door splintered on its hinges. The chain looped around the handles took the strain, then snapped. 

"He got in," Cordelia said, pointing at the demon, hysteria threatening. "Angel, he got in!"

"I can see that. Please run for your room now."

"I have come for your loved ones," the demon announced, his eyes on Cordelia. "I'll drink her down before I crush you then destroy your realm."

"Great. Tough guy talk," Spike said, making it sound as uninterested as he was able. "You do know it won't be that easy."

The demon raised an eyebrow. "Oh, no?"

Spike adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword. "You'll have to come through us."

The demon smiled, looking truly amused. "With pleasure."

Cordelia shrieked and ran for the stairs as the demon stepped towards her. Angel and Spike hissed at him through their fangs, raised their swords, and attacked.

"You have tended to your wounds," the demon said, kicking Spike squarely in the chest. He grabbed Angel by the neck and held him off the ground. "You waste your time when you could have been fleeing." He slashed the other side of Angel's face with his claws, making Angel cry out in pain. He left four gouges, narrowly missing Angel's other eye.

"We don't flee, you _wanker_ ," Spike yelled, stabbing his sword into the demon's back and dashing to the weapon's cabinet.

The demon tossed Angel to one side, snarling his displeasure as he pulled the sword from his body. Illyria leapt onto his back and stabbed down into his shoulders with two butterfly swords. She aimed them down into his chest cavity and clung on with all her might as he tried to shake her off.

"Your resistance is entertaining but ultimately futile." He backed into the wall, cracking the plaster, slamming Illyria into it again and again until she was dazed enough to crumple to the ground. 

The demon staggered and Spike swung an axe, lodging it deeply into the demon's chest. Spike stared in disbelief as the demon drew himself up to his full height and pulled one of the butterfly swords from his shoulders. He then grabbed the handle of the axe and yanked it from his own flesh with barely a grimace. Black blood spattered to the floor.

"You are not totally without skill," he allowed, a little breathless. "Perhaps I shall do you the honour of keeping your skulls as trophies when I conquer this pathetic realm."

Spike aimed a punch but the demon caught it in his fist. "I really hate it when people do this," Spike said, baring his teeth as the demon squeezed. "It's just not cricket."

The demon twisted Spike's arm to one side, crushing bones in his hand, making Spike cry out. "Are you prepared to die, little vampire?"

"Oh, fuck _off_ ," Spike said, and head-butted him.

"Spike, get down!" 

Spike dropped instantly at the sound of Angel's voice. Angel started firing two of Wesley's revolvers he'd taken from the weapon's cabinet. He emptied both clips into the demon's chest and belly, the impact enough to drive the demon back several paces and lose his grip on Spike, who stumbled over to where aIllyria was struggling to her feet.

"Is it me or is this guy getting stronger?" Spike asked, licking blood from his lip and cradling his broken hand, leaning heavily on the wall for support.

"It's not you," Illyria said. 

"Just like Cordelia said. How in the hell are we supposed to fight that?"

"If she is right, then logic would dictate that we don't fight and have no fear."

"And then we sit idly by as he chops us into little pieces and goes after our loved ones."

"I don't know that I have any loved ones."

"A topic for another day, love. But you'll still be in little pieces."

"That is not something I want."

"Then what do we do?"

Illyria stood firm as the demon got to his feet and took a step towards them. "I am at a loss."

"Fuck," said Spike, as Angel reloaded and kept firing. Spike curled his fingers and bit hard on his lip as the bones ground together. "I need more blood, and we need a plan, like yesterday."

"Hey! Hey, ugly!" They looked up to see Cordelia standing on the first floor, her face pale, her knuckles white on the bannister. "You looking for loved ones? I'm standing right here." Her bravado faltered a little but she didn't flinch when the demon snarled at her and stomped his foot, sending a reverberation through the foundations. "That's right," she said. "Come and get me."

Spike was torn between pride and horror. "Oh _no you don't_!" he cried, grabbing a discarded sword and leaping into the path of the demon. He'd trained long and hard over the years to make sure he could handle a sword in either hand, but it didn't seem to matter. No matter how many blows he landed, nothing seemed to make much of an impact. Deep down he knew it was a waste of time, but he couldn't stop. There was no way he was just going to roll over and let the demon go after Cordelia. He stabbed the sword through the demon with the last of his strength and just hoped he'd given her enough time to run. 

The demon looked down at the sword in his chest. He laughed, his eyes on Spike as he pulled out the blade and tossed it to one side. "That's really starting to tickle," he said, then lifted his head and scented the air. "Yes," he said, backhanding Spike across the room where he collided with the wall and crumpled in the corner. "Yes," he said again. "She will do."


	33. Chapter 33

It all seemed incredibly unfair, somehow, that Cordelia was getting chased through the one place she'd come to regard as safe haven, as her home, by an enormous demon who only wanted to kill her because she was a plus-one to the vampires she spent most of her time with. She ran through the hallways of the hotel, sure that at any second a heavy hand was going to land on her shoulder. She tripped on a rucked-up edge of carpet and her shoulder collided with the wall, but she stayed on her feet and kept running. 

"It does you no good to flee from me."

Her heart gave a painful lurch and her throat seized up. She got her back to the wall and turned to face him.

"Wait," she said, her voice catching. She held up a hand. "Just wait one second."

"Are you going to plead for your life? Are you going to fight?" 

He pulled the remaining butterfly sword from his shoulder and solemnly passed it to her, hilt first, like a waiter showing off a fancy bottle of wine. Cordelia hesitated, but took the sword and raised it. The blade wobbled a little, stained with black blood, but she held her ground and tried to keep her breathing slow and even.

The demon tilted his head, amused. "Tell me, what good does it do you to delay the inevitable? Do you wish to pray to your gods? Do you think they are listening to your plight?"

Cordelia glared up at him, sick and tired of being scared, and completely over having a demon look down his nose at her. "No, you _ginormous asshole_. I'm just stalling so my friends have time to sneak up on you."

"Howdy," Angel said, grabbing one of the demon's arms as Illyria grabbed the other. Between them they caught him off balance and shoved him back into the room behind him as hard as they could, crashing right through the closed door and sending him tumbling over the floor. He hit the back wall and roared, starting back towards them, but before he'd taken a step he convulsed and dropped to the floor. They watched as the magic in the room took its effect, the demon ageing and withering before their eyes. 

"Not weak," Cordelia said from the shattered doorway, "and totally not helpless." 

The demon turned his head at the sound of her voice, trying to focus his gaze on her. He snarled like a dog and started crawling for the door. Cordelia let out a short strangled cry, completely against her will, and lurched back from the open door, holding up her sword.

"Door! Door! Why is there no door? We need a door!"

"I don't think a piece of wood would do much good," Angel said. 

"I just need something to slam in his stupid face. But is it working? Is it enough? If he gets as far as the doorway and starts crawling out we can chop bits of him off, right?"

"Uh... yes?"

"I would watch him shrivel and his innards burst and decay," Illyria stated, watching spellbound as the demon inched his way towards them, his skin puckering like crumpled wax paper over a black skeleton, his claws as long as straight razors and still growing, white hair sprouting in tufts in random places all over his body.

"Gross." Cordelia shook her head but couldn't keep her eyes from the demon. "So, so gross. Is he dying?"

"He's dying," Angel said, sounding sure. "He has to be." His nose twitched. "Oh no. "

"What's wrong?" Cordelia asked. "Wait, holy crap, I'm getting it too. Oh my god, I think I'm gonna yack." She pinched her nose shut. "Can we go? You think it's okay to leave? You think he's dead now?"

The demon slumped onto his face and stopped moving. One skeletal hand was reaching for the door; his eyes sunken in his head, black and dead.

"We're good," Angel said after a moment. "No breathing. No heartbeat. No anything. And he stinks like death. Let's just let him rot and turn to dust and vanish into the ether in peace. And I think tomorrow we're going to brick this room up and never speak of it again."

"Agreed," said Cordelia. "Can we please run away howling now?"

"He has shrivelled," Illyria said, clearly satisfied. "And I believe that stench is due to his innards bursting. I am finished here."

"All righty then," Angel said, the backs of his fingers to his nose, his eyes watering. 

They all ran for the lobby. Spike was sitting propped against the wall, his legs stuck out in front of him, a cigarette dangling from his lip. Cordelia took the cigarette and stubbed it out in the dead pot plant.

"Everyone's a critic," he sighed. He looked up at them and his face faded back to human, dark bruises more prominent on his pale skin. "I heard your glorious victory. Thought I'd just, uh, sit this one out down here. Everyone okay?"

"We're good," Angel said. "Cordelia's a genius."

"Which we all knew already," she said. "But Angel and Illyria did all the legwork," she added, feeling generous.

Spike smiled faintly. "Cordelia, I need..."

"What is it?" she asked, concerned. "You need more blood?"

"Could you just... open a window? It smells like fifty dead cats in here."

She let out a little hiccup of a laugh, and went to the front doors. She opened them wide, letting in the cool night air, and breathed deep. Her hands were shaking but her chest felt light, like a burden had been lifted. She took two of the blood-bags from the reception desk and gave one to Angel. "Your face," she said, making an abortive little gesture towards him.

"It's okay," he said. "Superficial. It'll heal in a day or so."

She passed the other bag to Spike. "Your hand."

Spike managed to move his fingers a fraction but gave up on it quickly. "Ouch. Just keep the blood coming and we'll be right as rain in no time. Perks of being the evil undead."

"Illyria?" she asked, turning. "You're not doing your stoic 'I'm too tough to be injured' thing, are you?"

"I need neither blood nor medical care, but later you may order me Mexican food."

Cordelia grinned at her. She had the strangest urge to hug the god-king but reined herself in just in time. "Then we're okay," she said, relieved. "We're all okay."

"I'm really angry with you," Angel said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Me?" she asked in surprise. "What did I do?"

"You put yourself in danger. I hate it when you do that! I find it very distracting when I'm trying to fight."

"Oh, please. Don't give me that crap. You guys were in trouble. I heard you talking about him getting stronger the longer you fought him -- which, by the way, was totally what I told you in the first place -- so it seemed like we had an obvious way to go."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike said. "You're a diabolical genius. Way to put our freaky time speedy uppy room to good use. I'm really angry with you, too."

Cordelia rolled her eyes but turned it into a small smile. "You're all very welcome, I'm sure."

Spike tutted and held up his uninjured hand to Angel to be pulled to his feet. To Cordelia's surprise, Angel helped him without hesitation or complaint. Spike limped over to the red couches and sat down gingerly. Angel retrieved his bottle of scotch and four mismatched glasses from the office. He poured a healthy measure in each glass and they all took one.

"Well?" Spike asked Illyria. "You still think we don't work well together?" He clinked their glasses together and Illyria frowned at the gesture. She held her glass up to the light. 

"Your tactics are improving."

Spike smiled. "I _told_ you I had some moves."

"But absolutely no grace in the face of a compliment." She took a small sip of her scotch, and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps in small doses this poison is not so objectionable." Spike opened his mouth to argue, then clearly thought better of it. Illyria glanced at each of them in turn. "And perhaps, on occasion, teamwork is the strongest tactic."

"It has its moments," Spike said. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey then took a long pull on his blood-bag. "Well," he said on an exhale. "That was quite the unexpected interlude. You see what happens when we want to talk about our feelings in a frank and open manner? It's a recipe for disaster. Next time we should just text like everyone else."

"You wanted to talk about your feelings?" Cordelia asked, sitting down beside him. "I thought we were going to just do lots of yelling." She took a large swallow and pulled a face as the whiskey burned a warm path through her chest. She gripped one of the cushions and held on tight, paying attention to the slow in-out of her breathing, trying to ground herself.

"Actually," he said with a glance to Angel, "we wanted to talk to you about triangles."

She frowned. "I take it we're not talking the little metal ones that go ding."

"No. More the ones made of three people living together in perfect harmony."

Cordelia raised her eyebrows. Then she raised them some more. Clearly something had just been lost in translation because there was no way Spike had just suggested what he'd just suggested. Angel was watching her, a little apprehensive maybe, but not freaking out, which meant that he was in on this little revelation, which meant that he was on-board with idea. She opened her mouth, but it took her a good half a minute to find any words because, really, the whole evening was just too much.

"What... seriously?"

Illyria set down her glass. "I have no wish to be involved in this intimate revelation."

Spike pursed his lips, considering. "If you did that would make it more of a square. A diamond, maybe." He smiled up at her. "Or in your case, a sapphire."

Illyria held up a hand. "No wish," she repeated firmly. "No matter what your grasp of simple geometry or precious stones. Do not embarrass yourself by continuing. I am very much out of your league." 

Spike watched her walk away. "At least she let us down gently."

Cordelia raised her glass, then set it down again without drinking. "I don't get it. You're being all calm and mature about this. You've discussed this, haven't you? You've discussed me. Worked out all the details without even consulting me."

Spike snorted. "Hardly. Have you met us? We're rubbish on details. We just figured out that this is what we want. We could have gone the beating the shit out of each other for all eternity route. I mean, it's a well-travelled road but..." He blinked. "I think I got hit on the head too much. I seem to have lost my point somewhere around here."

"He means we want you," Angel said, and it made Cordelia's insides go achy and warm. "We want each other. We want to try."

"I always wondered about you two."

Angel looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "You did not."

"Sure I did. We all did back in Sunnydale. You totally have history. You think just because you and Buffy were doing your big star-crossed lovers thing that we couldn't see right through all that posturing and bickering you guys were always doing?"

"There was nothing going on," Angel said. "Why does everyone always think there's something going on?"

"Because there's usually something going on," Spike said. "You and I have a lot of chemistry to go around." He set his glass to one side and slid closer to Cordelia on the couch. "I can't discuss this any more like a reasonable adult. Can't we just leap into it and see how it goes?"

She was suddenly very aware of her skin where Spike was almost touching her. "You have terrible impulse control," she said, little more than a whisper. "And even worse timing."

"Let us kiss you," he murmured. "Just try it on for size and see if it fits."

He touched her knee with just the fingertips of his good hand. Cordelia let out a soft breath. "This is weird. I mean, even for us, this is really weird."

"No," Angel said gently, abandoning his glass and sitting on her other side. "It makes perfect sense."

She watched, her breathing picking up, as Spike took Angel's hand and laced their fingers together. "Weird," she said, looking up at each of them in turn. She tilted her face up to Angel, hesitant, and kissed him softly, mindful of his injuries. Spike's kiss was a little deeper, a little wetter, and it made her face grow warm knowing that Angel was watching them. She looked back and forth between them; worlds shared in the way they were looking at her, and at each other. 

"So far so good?" Angel asked. She nodded her head, and got one of his rare broad smiles in return. 

"So we can... we can really just do this? Like it's a normal thing? No jealousy, no fighting? We get to bypass that and do this instead?" 

"Oh, there'll probably be jealousy and fighting," Spike said, a slow wolf-smile spreading across his face. "It's just now we have a healthy outlet for all that tension."

She swallowed and licked her lips. "Did _I_ get hit on the head? Or this isn't some spell-induced coma sex dream thing, right? Angel told me about the time when he--"

Spike pinched her hard on the hip and made her yip in surprise. He was smiling when she turned to him to complain, but the movement made him hiss and he drew back, shielding his damaged hand. "Sorry, luv. There's fun pain and there's pain that makes you want to barf. This is the latter."

"Next time tell me that when we haven't just kissed."

Spike stole another swift kiss with just a hint of tongue. "You didn't get hit on the head." He got to his feet and stretched, hissing and complaining the whole way. 

Angel rolled his eyes and stood fluidly. He took hold of Spike's forearm and examined his hand. "This will heal a lot faster if we reset the bones."

"Oh, joy," Spike said. "I can't hardly wait." He caught hold of Angel's collar and pulled him into a brief kiss, his eyes flickering closed. 

Cordelia gasped, surprised by how much the sight affected her. "So we're just putting a pin in... whatever this is?" 

"Just until the bone-crunching pain is over with." Spike sighed. "I'm going to need all the blood and all the whiskey, and then after I want a blisteringly hot shower and a shedload of TLC. And for that part I'd be more than delighted if you'd join me." He drew back to look at Angel. "You too. Your room has a massive bathroom."

"I'm just a little worried about my face washing off in the shower."

"Firstly, gross; secondly... it's okay," Spike said. "We'll take care of you." Angel smiled, looking a little besotted. "We can stitch you up if needs be. But as soon as there's no danger of your face coming off and as soon as I can move my hand again without screaming, I expect sexual favours."

"Really," Cordelia said, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile.

"Big sexual favours. Epic."

Angel sighed, like this was going to be terribly tedious for him. "I think I'm going to need more blood."

 

\---

 

"You've both seen Speed, right?"

Spike nodded vaguely, busy adjusting the temperature of the shower to his liking. Angel was looking forlornly in the direction of the bathroom mirror and prodding carefully at his face, but he nodded too.

"I just feel I should do a Sandra Bullock and point out that relationships that start under intense circumstances are doomed to fail."

Spike started unbuckling his belt. "Wasn't there something in there about having to base said relationships on lots and lots of sex just to bolster them up?"

Cordelia's mouth went dry. Spike was a horrible, terrible person, and it just wasn't right that his stupid smug face and his stupid belt unbuckling skills made her completely lose her train of thought. "I just mean... this is... You guys are vampires and you're older than god. I'm... me, with all my baggage. Now, boom, we're having a threesome. Help me out here."

Angel cupped her cheek. The pressure of his fingertips on her skull felt wonderful and she leaned into it. "Stop thinking," he said softly. "I love you." And that was cheating. It was absolutely cheating because that was too big, it was huge, and he had to know the effect it had on her when he went all serious and soul-searching and actually vocalised what he was feeling. "We've been living together for... I guess it depends on your perspective, but a long time now. You and Spike were together all the time, just being friends -- which I feel I should point out I hated with a fiery passion."

"Too late now, mate," Spike said, finally happy with the water temperature. Clouds of steam were filling the bathroom. "That ship has sailed. Plus this isn't exactly going to be our first time. Just our first time all together."

Cordelia let out a little "hah!" "I knew you guys had history."

"Very recent history," Spike said, waggling his eyebrows. 

"My _point_ is," Angel said, "that this isn't our beginning, and that basically our entire lives are intense circumstances, but if it's too much, if you're getting cold feet, it's okay to wait. It's okay to say no. I just want you to be happy."

"I just want you naked," Spike said, pulling his t-shirt over his head. He was still favouring his good hand and his torso was covered in nasty-looking bruises, but he was already moving more easily. Also he had very distracting forearms and Cordelia really wanted to bite on his hipbones. 

"I just want you to shut up," Angel said, but without any real heat to it. Spike was busy ignoring him, kicking off his boots and getting very naked.

"I feel dizzy," she said. "I mean, good dizzy. Really good dizzy. I'm just... it's okay to be a little overwhelmed, right?"

Angel smiled. He nodded, then leaned in and kissed her, his hands on her face. She kissed him back harder this time, less worried about hurting him. The deep cuts on his face had knitted together, leaving nasty scars behind, but Angel had always been good at dealing with pain and it didn't seem to be bothering him at all. 

"It's okay," he said. "All of it. It's all okay."

Spike came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. He bit down gently on her shoulder and Cordelia sighed into Angel's mouth. Clothes disappeared slowly, and the three of them got into the shower. Cordelia turned into the spray, letting it wash over her. Spike grabbed Angel's shampoo and squeezed a generous amount into his palm, then squeezed more into Angel's hand. The air filled with Angel's scent, and they spent long moments washing each other's hair, smiling at the intimate domesticity of it, the three of them getting soapy, washing away blood and traces of battle, enjoying the hot water and the slide of wet skin. 

Both vampires were hard, neither of them urgent, not yet, just bumping and slipping against her, content for the moment to tease and caress. They shared kisses back and forth that started out sweet but quickly got more urgent. It was Angel who touched her first, his big hand sliding down between her breasts, over her stomach and between her legs, finding her hot and swollen for him. He didn't push inside, just teased her over and over, watching her reaction. She pushed her face into the curve of Spike's throat, embarrassed. 

"Don't hide from us, love," he murmured. He turned her in his arms to face him, kissing her, licking into her mouth. She touched his face, welcoming his kiss, thumbing over a faint trickle of old eyeliner. Her back met Angel's chest, the hard length of him slipping between her legs and making her groan. She was up on her tiptoes without even realising it, her thighs shaking, moving her hips back against him. Angel tilted her hips back towards him and slid inside. She bit hard on Spike's lip as he murmured encouragements she couldn’t make out. Angel barely moved, just little nudges, driving her crazy with the deep, gentle, relentless pressure. 

Spike licked his way down her body until he was kneeling in front of her, then kissing between her legs, his tongue slipping over her, then farther back to where Angel was inside her. Angel groaned, his lips on Cordelia's throat, his hand going to Spike's head and tangling in his hair. Spike kept licking at her, right where she needed it most, not letting up until she was coming, her whole body shaking, her palm skidding over wet tile. Angel fucked into her, deep thrusts, wringing little cries out of her, until he went still, gasping her name. She could _feel_ the rush of it inside her, still so strange and new, and a faint brush of sharkskin on her cheekbone, then it was gone, only his blunt teeth and wet mouth on her jaw. 

"We totally just made you vamp out a little, didn't we?" she asked, breathless.

"I'll never tell," he said. He drew Spike into a kiss, and she knew he'd be able to taste her there. Spike was still hard, and that hardly seemed fair, so she squeezed him, guiding him between her legs, not inside, just sliding against her, there to tease as Angel slipped out. She sighed at the loss, making Spike's eyes flare with want. 

"Can you go again?" Spike asked.

"Wait, no, too sensitive. I need a minute. But, uh, do you guys..."

Spike looked up at Angel and grinned, wicked and sure of himself. "Apparently we do. You want to watch?"

They were rougher together, which she'd kind of expected, and Spike was a little frantic. Their kisses turned biting, a faint trail of red curling over Angel's cheek before it was washed away in the falling water. It was Spike who turned Angel to the wall, and that wasn't at all how she thought it would go. He pushed inside and Angel tensed, crying out, his arms braced on the wall, letting Spike fuck into him. She watched them, her breath caught in her throat -- all that pale, pale skin over solid dolphin curves and hard cut muscle -- blushing as Spike watched her right back.

"I've decided," she said, when they were trading lazy kisses after, enjoying the hot water and the endless fascination of each other's bodies. "We're never leaving the hotel again. We're just doing this forever."

"Okay," Spike said, sounding perfectly serious, and it made Angel smile.

Eventually Angel turned off the water. They took great pleasure in drying Cordelia off and taking her to Angel's bed. 

"This thing is indecent," Spike said, pulling back the sheets. "How come you have the biggest everything in this hotel?" 

Angel bit on his lip and gave an easy little shrug.

Spike screwed up his face, realising what he'd just given away. "Wanker," he said.

Angel kissed him on the shoulder and got into bed. He lay in the middle and held out his arms. Cordelia made a pffft sound and got in beside him, wriggling until he moved over, letting her lie in the middle. The two vampires wrapped her up in their bodies, warmer than usual from the shower.

"Did I mention this was weird? My head is, like, _full_."

"Verbose after an adrenaline comedown, aren't we?" said Spike.

"Shuddup," she said. "You know I speak the truth."

"Weirder than mystical amnesia or the fact that Angel and me might have finally found the thing that keeps us from each other's throats?"

"All that," she said. "But I don't care. This is good, right here. I'm never leaving this room again."

"Suits me," said Spike.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You think we can get coordinated enough to... uh, get everybody in on the act at the same time?"

"Yes," they both said, too fast and too eager, and it made her laugh. She yawned. "'Kay, but later. I'm either going to crash or burst out of my skin. Don't know which yet. But either way, we don't wanna peak too soon." She immediately held up a finger to Spike. "No dirty puns."

Spike shut his mouth with a click of teeth.

She yawned again and snuggled down into the sheets. "I hate to bring this up again, but you're looking really blissed out over there. Nothing says buzzkill like waking up with Angelus." Angel immediately looked crushed and Cordelia felt like slapping herself. "Sorry, not exactly firing on all... uh... those things."

"Forget it," Angel said. He scowled when Spike flicked him on the earlobe.

"No brooding in bed," Spike said. "But that part we did discuss. I'll explain exactly how we're going to handle that little barrel of monkeys."

Angel lay back on the pillows. "I think it's all about heaping pain and suffering and endless insults on me."

"Oh," Cordelia said. "I guess I can do that."

"I knew you wouldn't let me down," Angel said, his eyes closing.

"And we'll be okay?"

"Yes," Spike said firmly. "Though I've been thinking. I think maybe we should put some feelers out. Talk to some people in the know; see if we can't work something a little more permanent. Trust me, I know it can be done, although the process is never much fun. But we'll be fine."

"Angel?" she said.

Angel opened his eyes and looked at each of them in turn. "Better put out those feelers."

Cordelia felt for his hand under the sheets and linked their fingers together, squeezing hard.

Spike wrapped an arm around her waist. "Maybe this was the end of level after all," he said, pulling his pillow closer with his teeth until he was happy with its placement, then tucked his face into her shoulder. "This is the part where Mario takes the princess into the castle for a bit of well-earned rumpy-pumpy. 'Cept this time he's brought Luigi along for the ride, so to speak."

"Nice analogy. Tell me again why I like you," Cordelia said through another yawn.

"Don't know, cutie," he said, curling up behind her. "Must be my animal magnetism."

 

\---

 

Cordelia opened her eyes and wondered what time it was. The sun was up, high in the sky, just visible through the curtains, so she figured it was late morning. She stretched out under the covers and wiggled her toes. Spike was nowhere to be seen but Angel was still asleep beside her, his hair sticking up in all directions, the scars on his face faded to faint lines. She kissed his collarbone and his jaw, smiling at him when he grunted in response and wrapped an arm around her.

"I'm going for coffee? You want some?"

He mumbled something unintelligible and she took it as a yes. She slipped out of bed, wrapped herself up in his robe, and padded down to the kitchen. Spike was already there, staring at the coffee machine as the water trickled through.

"Good morning," she said, putting two more mugs on the counter beside his.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead."

"Or with them."

"That's me," she said, her heart thumping as he pulled her into his embrace. "Necrophilia is a go."

"I love it when you talk dirty," he said, and kissed her.

There was a lot of kissing, something Cordelia had zero problem with, enough to wake her all the way up and _almost_ enough to make her forget all about her coffee. She ended up sitting on the counter with Spike's hands under her robe, him standing between her legs. 

Angel appeared, shuffling into the kitchen, wearing only a pair of low-riding jeans, scratching a hand through his hair. She broke away and suffered a terrible jolt of guilt, until Angel gave them both a sleepy kiss and grabbed his favourite mug. He served them both coffee and the momentary shock faded away. She grinned at Spike and he gave her a little one-shouldered shrug. He didn't say it, but she could hear him, clear as day, saying, _told you so_. This was what they did now. She wasn't cheating or lying and no one was getting left out. She was turned on and happy, hope filling her up. Then there was lovely, delicious caffeine, and a moment of quiet appreciation of whatever it was that Spike did when he was brewing coffee that made it taste so good.

"I think we should go back to bed and just stay there all day," she said, because clearly they were all thinking it.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Spike said.

"You think we're scandalising Illyria?"

"I think Illyria is big enough and ugly enough to handle people having sex in her general vicinity."

"You think _she_ has sex?"

"Who the hell knows? There was talk about living seven lives at once, back in the day, strolling through the dimensions, and unimaginable ecstasies only fit for gods... so who knows what she does for kicks. You think she feels left out?"

"Okay, just to be clear, it wasn't an invitation. But maybe we should all eat dinner together or something. So she knows we haven't forgotten her."

"Thoughtful of you."

"Hey, what's the point of a mission if you don't grow as a person? Plus, she's our housemate and still potentially super-scary. I wouldn't want her starting to leave us passive aggressive notes about keeping the noise down or she'll kill us all in our sleep."

Spike paused in drinking his coffee. "Good point."

"Let's make it Mexican. You know how freaking nuts she is for tacos. That'll mean extra brownie points." She wandered out to the lobby with her coffee in her hand. 

"Ooh," Spike said. "The little flag's up."

She followed his line of sight and noticed the raised flag on the mailbox at the end of the drive. "When was the last time we picked up the mail?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I have no earthly idea," Spike said. "But I did order some stuff on Angel's card a while back. Will you go and check I didn't miss a delivery?"

She gave him a look. 

"Pretty please, love. Sun's up."

"This better not be porn," she said, tightening the belt of Angel's robe.

"Oh, please," Spike said. "Nothing so pedestrian."

She padded out to the mailbox, hoping none of their neighbours were looking -- which led to her to a moment of horrified wondering about what their neighbours thought about all the late nights and large demons -- and returned with a handful of mail. "Mail call!" Spike scooped the pile out of her hands and scanned through it. He dumped the lot back into her hands with a sigh. She stared at the jumbled pile of unopened mail. "Nothing for you, I take it?"

Spike waved vaguely and went back to his coffee.

She arranged the stack of mail into bills, circulars, bank statements, and one solitary letter: a thick manila envelope with her name and the address of the hotel written in vaguely familiar handwriting. She opened it and read the first few lines, her eyes widening with every word. She turned to the back page to read the signature, just to be sure, and sat down, right on the ground.

"Delia?" Spike called, tossing yesterday's newspaper to one side. He was at her side in an instant. "What is it, pet? Not another vision?"

"No. I got a letter."

Spike frowned. "You win the sweeps or something?"

She looked up at him. "No. It's from Wesley."


	34. Chapter 34

Cordelia sat quietly with a cold cup of coffee in front of her and watched Angel pace back and forth with Wesley's letter in his hand. She knew what was in the letter. She'd read it beginning to end, and then read it again, just to be sure. Wesley said that Illyria's first meeting with Cordelia had put idea in his head: when he'd seen how Illyria had been so interested in what had happened to Cordelia and why and how years had been removed from her life. Then when Cordelia had pieced Illyria back together and stopped her from disintegrating, when it caused Cordelia to temporarily regain her memories, regain her _self_ , Wesley said it was then that he knew that Cordelia -- all her memories, all the parts of her -- it was all still in there, or out there, somewhere.

He said that the reason they hadn't been able to find anything on her condition was because, from their point of view, it hadn't happened yet. Or it had all been decided long ago. Time and space meant little to Higher Beings, to say nothing of dimensions. On that kind of playing field, they couldn't find what hadn't yet been done, at least not with their paltry human perception. It all sounded pretty wishy-washy to Cordelia, but these were things of higher magic and other planes. Who was she to say what made sense? 

Wesley said he hadn't wanted to say anything before their grand battle against the Black Thorn because he already knew precisely how things were going to end, thanks to Cordelia's vision, and he'd made his peace with that. He didn't want for Cordelia to distract them from the mission, but moreover he didn't want for her to have to fight alongside them. He said that Cordelia was still innocent, that she still had things worth living for, and that simple truth was something worth anything he still had left to give.

He said that Cordelia had willingly given of herself to be returned to Angel. The price she had to pay were the years of herself that mattered to her the most: payment in full to the Higher Beings. Wesley had managed to track them down and make a similar deal, giving the remains of his life for hers to be returned to her. He said that they had needed a little persuading that his offering was equal, but he had eventually managed to bring them around to his way of thinking. 

Cordelia couldn't imagine what it was he'd bartered away. She despised the thought that in anyone's balance Wesley's life didn't measure up to hers. It had been awful to read but it was even worse hearing Angel say it out loud. Cordelia's vision blurred and tears spilled down her cheeks as Angel's voice wavered and trailed off completely when it came to Wesley saying his goodbyes. 

There were other sheets included with the letter: lists of ingredients and a ritual, which was complicated, in Angel's opinion, not to mention insanely dangerous, in Spike's opinion, but probably, possibly doable.

Spike brushed a tear from Cordelia's cheek. "Why so sad, pretty? I know it's bloody awful to hear how little Wesley thought of himself but..." He trailed off, looking pained. 

She scrubbed at her face. "He was just so... broken. Worse than broken. Beyond repair. It's horrible."

"But it's clear to see that he loved you, and that he'd had enough of this mortal coil. Happy to shuffle it off, sounds like. There are worse things than death, no matter how trite it might sound or how much it pains those of us left behind. Things we've seen, things we've lived, we all know it's true. But he's at peace now, and he left you one hell of a gift. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"It was. But it's like... I don't want to say tainted. I just can't bear to think of what it cost. And say we go through it. What if I don't remember everything that's happened to me in the meantime? We've just been through several ginormous dramas. You think our luck is really that good that I'll just come out the other side as the older me, all memories fully intact, no strings attached?"

Spike frowned, thinking it through. "That is a very good question."

"You'll still be you," Angel said. "It's just you'll be... more."

"Or less," she said.

"Not possible," Angel said, sounding like he really wanted to be sure.

Cordelia wrapped her arms around herself. "You'll be okay if I don't remember this version of me. According to you I was totally in love with you anyway. What about Spike? I know me, and you're not just going to be able to spring a threeway undead relationship on me. That's the kind of thing I need to be eased into. And what about my memories of Wesley and Gunn and Fred? There's a lot I could be losing here, Angel."

"There's a lot you already lost," he said, and Cordelia figured it was a massive understatement. "But you have to decide for yourself. We'll go over Wesley's letter again, everything he left you, and make sure we haven't missed anything. Then you decide."

"Are _you_ okay?"

Angel looked surprised that she'd asked. There was a flash of loss and grief on his face before it hardened into something else. "It's just... why didn't he come to me? We could have figured something out. He didn't have to do this."

"This wasn't about him sacrificing himself," Spike said. 

"That's exactly what it was about."

"No, it wasn't. This was Wesley seeing a way out from his black hole of misery, and taking it, but he was a good man with a big brain, so he figured he could at least put it to good use."

Angel tossed the letter onto the reception desk. "Put _what_ to good use?"

"His death. He'd had enough and he wanted out. If he could help Cordelia in the process, so be it, but you can bet your bottom dollar that even without her in the picture he would still have taken that way out."

Angel's face crumpled. "I hate it."

"As you should," Spike said. "But it was his choice. You should honour that." He opened his arms as Cordelia turned to him, and drew her in close, tucking her head under his chin. 

"Can we go back to bed?" she asked quietly. "I want to sleep. Can we just sleep for a while?"

"Whatever you need, sweetheart." He held out a hand to Angel. "Come on. All of us."

Angel held Spike's gaze for a long moment, then took his hand.

 

\---

 

The ritual took them the better part of a day to set up. Intricate symbols had to be painted on the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling, with no margin for error; small sacrifices had to be made, blood had to be spilled, herbs had to be burned. 

"Stinky herbs are a go," Cordelia said, dusting off her hands. She stared down at the painted circle on the floor. 

"You sure about this?" Spike asked. 

She nodded.

" _Really_ sure?" Angel asked. "You have nothing to prove here, Cordelia. You decide what you want to do. There's nothing wrong with just continuing as you are. Nothing at all."

She was quiet for a long moment. "I want to know," she said. "There was more to me and that was taken away. I want it back."

"Okay," he said softly. "I love you."

She glanced up. "I love you, too. And you," she said, looking to Spike. "Both of you. Just... be here when this is over, okay?"

"Yeah," Spike said, his voice rough. "We'll be right here."

There was nothing more to be said. She took her place in the circle. Angel started to read. 

It went quite well, for a complicated ancient spell unlocking things hidden away by Higher Beings who held more power than human beings and other earthly creatures should ever have had access to. A mystical wind picked up until it howled, making Angel have to shout to be heard until even that wasn't enough and his voice was lost entirely. Cordelia was buffeted by the wind, the pressure in the room heavy enough that she felt weighted down, crushed by it. The light bulbs imploded; the only light coming from the symbols they'd painted, glowing bright white and hurting their eyes. Angel struggled to hold onto the paper he was reading from, resorting to falling to his knees and pinning the paper to the floor to stop it from tearing in his hands.

As the spell neared its apex, Cordelia slumped to the floor, unconscious. Spike ran to her while Angel finished the spell, yelling the words into the shrieking gale. Spike slapped at her hands and cheeks, shaking her, but nothing would wake her. Angel finished reading and the shrieking stopped, fading into nothing like a wisp of smoke from an extinguished candle.

Illyria appeared, her eyebrows raised ever so slightly as she took in the proceedings. "You were foolish to attempt this without me," she said, "but I am impressed you did not incinerate yourselves in the process." She drew nearer to Cordelia. She reached out a hand, hesitant, then laid it on Cordelia's arm.

"Well?" said Spike, impatient. 

"I do not know. There is much mystery contained this brash, inexplicable human. For now, she sleeps."

"And when does she wake?"

Illryia shook her head and rose smoothly to her feet. "That I cannot say."

Angel called a doctor he knew from the Wolfram & Hart days, an unscrupulous man, but a medical genius and a powerful shaman who could keep any secret for the right sum. He glanced around the room at the symbols they'd painted, still visible and smoking slightly, and very carefully didn't react apart from a slight widening of his eyes. He examined Cordelia while Angel and Spike paced, helpless, then told them that she was physically unharmed, but she was in a coma, much like the one she'd been in before. Angel stood very still, and Spike clenched a hand on the back of his shirt. The doctor said he could set her up with a drip if she didn't wake up of her own accord within a day or so, then come back and check on her, or he could find her a place in the best private clinic in L.A. Naturally, he also had a barrage of expensive tests he could perform, both mystical and medical, if that was what they wanted, but in his opinion there was nothing much to be done but wait.

They chose to wait. 

Spike carried her to her room and put her to bed. He smoothed her hair, neatened the sheets, toyed with the curtains, and generally looked small and lost. Illryia produced a small arrangement of flowers, pale orchids and sweet smelling jasmine, placed them on the bedside table like she was performing a grave and ancient ceremony, and left without a word to anyone. Angel stood by the foot of the bed, not moving, not speaking, not breathing, until he realised that the sun had gone down. He brought Spike some blood but Spike didn't touch it. They spent the night and the next day in silent vigil. Angel felt blank; an empty hole where his heart was supposed to be. The next sunset, he left without a word, grabbing his coat, a broadsword and some stakes. He drove until he caught a scent -- fresh blood, grave dirt and cheap liquor -- pulled his car to the side of the road, and walked into an abandoned building; no reconnaissance, no effort to mask his scent or even to keep to the shadows. 

They raised their heads when they saw him and flashed feral grins, swaggering and taunting, underestimating him. They were little more than fledglings but still it felt good: the connection of the fight, the thrust of death, it all felt good. It felt like something. It just didn't feel like a challenge and it didn't take long until he was the last man standing, dust still swirling in the air around him. When it was done, he went home, hoping for change, not expecting much.

He found Spike sitting on the edge of Cordelia's bed, holding her hand. Angel waited by the doorway, watching them together.

"She won't wake up," Spike said without turning, without having given any sign that he was aware Angel was in the room. "She's just lying here and she won't wake up."

Angel walked slowly towards them. "There's nothing we could have done. This was her choice."

"No, fuck it, Angel. It is our fault. We shouldn't have let her. We're idiots. We just waltz through things and never think them through. We should never have let her. I should never have let her."

Angel laid his hand on Spike's shoulder and squeezed. "This is what she wanted."

"She should have been happy with her lot. Why the hell did she think she had to change? Stupid," he said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "So stupid the things people do."

"Spike..."

"Why couldn't she just be happy the way she was?" Spike shrugged off Angel's hand and left the room. 

Angel allowed himself a last look at the sleeping Cordelia, and followed him.

 

\---

 

Spike didn't want Angel to follow him. He didn't want sympathy or soft words. He didn't want anyone to try and make him feel better. He started running, wanting the burn, wanting the crunch, wanting to wipe it all away. He ran down hallways, turning this way and that until he slammed through a door and found himself in the kitchen. Angel almost ran right into his back.

"You know I heard you here?" Spike said.

There was a long pause. "When?"

"Heard you with her. It hurt, that did."

"Doesn't matter now," Angel said.

"Why? 'Cause we're one big, happy family?"

"Yes. It's a big mess as usual, but everybody wants everybody, so, yeah, happy families."

"You're such a tosser. You haven't come near me since."

"You haven't come near me. I didn't want to push you."

"Push me?" Spike said with a breath of bitter laughter. "You stupid git. Just goes to prove it'll never work. It never did before."

"What? You're not seriously-- Spike, you can't compare this to the past. That was different. _We_ were different. That wasn't love. That was something else. It wasn't balanced. It was all twisted up and it was... something else."

"That was your fault. You never once knew love until you got the soul. We're not all like you, you know. Some of us..." Spike looked away. "Fuck it. It doesn't matter. What if she doesn't wake up?"

"Don't you say that." Angel grabbed him and spun him around. "I've waited so long. She _will_ wake up. And everything's going to be fine."

"No, you prat." Spike knocked his hands away. "Everything's not going to be fine. Cordelia might never be fine. And even if she is, even if she wakes up tomorrow, _this_ will never be fine!" Spike vamped out as he shouted, grabbing fistfuls of Angel's shirt in his hands.

"It will be. You'll see--"

Spike surged forward, charging like a bull, and slammed Angel against the wall. "Goddamn you, Angel. Goddamn you. I should have left. I should have got out when the going was good. I never learn. I never learn that this always happens. This always fucking happens."

Angel didn't retaliate. He only stood there and let Spike struggle against him. "What's wrong with you?" Angel asked, keeping his voice low. "You really want to fight me now?"

Spike growled and twisted his hold on Angel's shirt, but the cracks were beginning to show. "Fuck you," Spike yelled, slamming him against the wall again. "You bastard. You stupid bastard."

Slippery as an eel, Angel twisted out of Spike's grasp and reversed their positions so it was Spike pushed against the wall, one arm twisted up behind him, Angel at his back. Angel just held him there, waiting it out.

"Stop it," Angel said, as calmly as he was able, his lips against Spike's throat, right above the jugular. "Don't fight me now. I need you." Spike let out a sad little sound, and he went limp, boneless in Angel's arms. "Tell me. What always happens?" Spike stayed silent. Angel turned him so they were face to face. "This?" he whispered, brushing his lips against Spike's. "Is this what's bothering you?"

Spike was shaking, Angel realised, trembling under his touch. "I always fall for you," Spike whispered. "You know that, you bastard. Every single time. Even when I know better, and I _always_ know better. But now there's her, too. I never had it this good, you know that?"

"She's still here. You hear me?" Angel kissed him then, tasting saltwater. "And I'm here, too. This isn't like before. It's not ever going to be like that again. I promise you, okay? I promise. Spike, I need you now. And I'm not going anywhere."

Spike searched his gaze, hungry for confirmation. He fisted Angel's shirt and pulled him in for a tight embrace, holding on with everything he had.

Angel kissed Spike's bared throat, tasting the skin, feeling the shudder that ran through Spike. Cautiously, Angel released him, waiting for any sudden moves. Spike stayed where he was, reaching up and laying his hand on the back of Angel's head. Angel closed his eyes and let the change come. When he bit deep into Spike's throat, he tasted whiskey and family and _lovescaredlonelydontleaveme_.


	35. Chapter 35

She opened her eyes around noon on a Tuesday. The drapes were closed but the room still seemed too bright. There was a very pretty vase of flowers on the bedside table. Angel was sitting in an armchair beside the bed, his hand resting on her forearm. He was asleep; his eyes moving behind closed lids. There was a drip attached to her other arm, the bag half-full. Cordelia's body didn't want to respond right away. She stretched out her fingers and couldn't feel Angel's hand on her arm, his touch too light, his body taking heat from her but giving none in return. 

She lay there awhile and thought things through. It came back to her in waves, not crowding her senses but teasing at her, her mind showing her things piece by piece that immediately felt like she'd known all along. Eventually she got restless and stretched out her legs, tired muscles complaining, her calf threatening to cramp but settling down when she turned her foot just right. The sound of the rustling sheets was enough to make Angel stir. 

"Cordy?" He sat up in the chair and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. He smiled and looked so relieved that she wanted to laugh with the joy of it.

"Angel, what is it? Hey, why are you crying?"

"Because you're here and I love you."

"I love you too. Stop with the tears, manly man. You'll give me a complex."

"You beat it. I knew you'd beat it. I mean, I hoped. But I _knew_. Did we... do you remember?"

She nodded. "Fred. Gunn. Wesl--" Her voice wavered and broke. "They're gone. Oh, no. I even taped over Doyle's video, didn't I?" Her eyes filled with tears. "So stupid."

"Cordy--"

"Everybody's gone."

"No," he said, swiping at his tears. "No. Not everyone. You're here. I'm here. Illyria seems to be in it for the long haul. She brought you those flowers. Spike has barely left your side."

Cordelia's heart constricted. "Where is he? He said he'd be here."

"He has been. More than me, truth be told. He'll be furious he wasn't here when you woke up. He wasn't coping very well."

"My ridiculous vampires."

"He thought... He's so used to being the one left behind. He's positive you're going to wake up and..."

"And only want you?"

"Something like that."

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I've been _trying_ to tell him that, but he never listens."

She shook her head and smiled. "He's such a drama queen."

"Me and Spike, it's... complicated would be a massive understatement." He smiled, but it turned serious. "Do you remember everything?"

"It's fuzzy, kind of like a dream right now, but I think it's all there."

"You came back to me," he whispered. "Can I kiss you?"

"Depends. How long was I out?"

"A few days. Really long days."

"I might have _really_ funky morning breath."

He laughed. "You don't. You're perfect. I don't care. I just want to make sure you're real."

"I'm real. Come here."

He kissed her gently, his palm on her cheek, and made a soft sound of contentment. He carefully pulled the needle from her arm, licked over the small puncture left behind and rolled his eyes when she muttered, "Gross. Vampire spit." He scooped her up from the bed, still wrapped in blankets, and carried her to the oversize armchair in the corner of the room by the window where she curled contently in his lap, her head tucked under his chin.

"Can we stay here forever?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"Good. That's really good." She looked up at him. "I really love you."

"I really love you too."

"Did I ever actually tell you that I'm sorry? Because I am. I'm so sorry."

Angel frowned, confused. "What for?"

"I don't know that we ever got to talk about it, not really. I tried not to fall for him. You don't know how hard I tried. I couldn't help it. He gets under your skin while he's distracting you with other stuff, and before you know it, boom, head over heels and confused as hell. Kinda mega-selfish of me, huh?"

"It's okay. I actually totally get it. I've been trying not to fall for him for a lot longer than that. Don't worry about it now."

"But I didn't remember us. I didn't know any better."

"Cordelia, listen to me. It's fine. I'm completely fine. We're completely fine."

"Good. Because I also remember talking about triangles."

Angel was quiet for a long moment. "Oh," he said eventually. "I guess that either makes things very simple or very complicated."

"Or a bit of both."

"Or that."

"Where is he?" She lifted her head. "Can we get him without actually moving? I'd really like to see him."

"You want me to call him?"

"You'd do that?"

"Of course. He went out looking for a fight, or a drink, or both. The usual."

"He's acting out?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. He's been butting heads with me, threatening to leave every other day, looking for an argument, blaming me for everything, then telling me he loves me, loves _us_ , without actually saying the words, naturally. I think he's terrified of it all falling apart and him being left on the outside. It's just been a whole lot of how awful I am and how fragile you are and how things are never going to work out." He smiled softly. "He's been sitting with you hours every day. He sleeps here half the time. It's probably too late to warn you, but Spike gets a little obsessive."

"Is it wrong that that doesn't bother me in the slightest?"

"No, but trust me that sometimes you're going to want to hit him with a hammer."

"Noted. But call him, please. I really want him here."

He got out his phone, then hesitated. "Do you want...? I mean, would you rather that I wasn't here for that?"

"I love you," she said. "Don't ever doubt that. Not even for a second. I don't need you not to be here for something like that."

"You love him too?"

She was quiet for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, I do. That's kind of where it gets complicated." She yawned expansively. "Or really simple." She yawned again. "I want a bath. And about a gallon of tea with honey, that fruity herbal tea. And blueberry pancakes."

Angel paused in calling up Spike's name on his phone. "I think that can be arranged."

She licked her lips. "That sounds so good right now I can't even tell you. Can I have them all at once? And will you wash my back?"

"Anything you want."

She stood up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. A head-rush robbed her of her vision for a second but it cleared and she felt just about strong enough to make it to the bathroom under her own steam. "Do I still look eighteen?" she asked hopefully.

"You look beautiful and young and alive and tired and beautiful and I can't wait to spend forever with you."

"Jeez, I was just fishing for a compliment. You didn't have to go and put hearts in my eyes." She flapped a corner of the blanket at him and shuffled off to the bathroom.

She cleaned her teeth while the bath ran, and did it sitting down because it was _exhausting_. Sliding into the hot scented water was like heaven on earth. Angel dutifully brought her pancakes, a pot of steaming tea in the biggest teapot they owned -- Spike's, naturally -- and a whole jar of honey. She was perfectly content to let him feed her little bites of pancake while she lay in the hot water and smiled at him. Being besotted and pampered and taken care of and _whole_ was something she could definitely get used to. 

She was half asleep, her belly pleasantly full, her thirst quenched, the water warming her through. Angel sat on the floor by the tub, his hands skimming the water, holding her hand, resting his chin on his arm, just watching her.

"You're getting your sleeves wet."

He shrugged, smiling at her as he tugged them up his forearms. "I'm just making sure you don't fall asleep in there. Or disappear on me again."

She yawned. "Not going anywhere. Except maybe back to bed. Will you put more hot in for me?" He leaned over and did as she asked. While the water ran, she asked, "Did you talk to Spike?"

"No answer. I left him a message."

"You think... Is he not coming? I mean, doesn't he...?"

"He does." Angel shut off the water and took hold of her foot. He stroked over her skin, moved up her calf and rubbed small circles behind her knee, which felt amazing. "I know he does. In fact..." He cocked his head, listening. "He's here." 

Cordelia's heart thumped in her chest. "Not too Elizabeth Taylor to be waiting in the tub?"

Angel looked her up and down, and Cordelia blushed, glad of the occasional patches of bubbles that were still floating on the water. "I don't think he'll mind."

There was the sound of a door opening and closing, then approaching footsteps. "Cordelia?" Spike stood in the doorway. "You're awake." He fell to his knees by the side of the tub and reached for her. He looked grey and smelled like booze and cigarette smoke. His hands trembled when he cupped her face, looking at her like he couldn't believe she was real. 

She smoothed her thumb over a recent bitemark on his throat. There were two others nearby, older and fading. 

"Have you guys been walking on the wild side while I was gone?"

Spike shrugged. "Angel can't keep his fangs off me. What can I say?"

She frowned and glanced at Angel, who gave her a complicated look that she decided meant: we'll talk about it later. 

Angel stood up. "I'm, uh, just going to make you more tea. I'll be back in a minute." There was just a hint of a question mixed in there, and when he caught Cordelia's eye over Spike's head she nodded at him.

Spike hadn't let go of her, his hands moving restlessly over her skin, his grip almost too tight on her when she took his hand. 

"You woke up. You remember everything?"

"I did. I do. Why do you look so miserable? Have you been filling in your spare time angsting while I've been gone?"

Spike abruptly pulled away from her and he stood up, wrapping his arms around his torso. His gaze strayed to the window. "So what happens now?"

She held out her hand to him. "Come here and I'll tell you."

"Can't. I need you to spell it out for me. Tell me what you want, Delia."

"You really want to do this while I'm in the bath?" 

"Good a time as any. Least I can make a clean getaway."

She dropped her hand and sighed, gripping the edge of the tub. "I'm selfish," she said. "Always have been. And greedy, too. I mean, I learned that there's more to life than clothes, money, cars... stuff, y'know? It's all just stuff. But when it's something that I want, I can still be pretty selfish about it. I remember everything that happened these past couple of months. I remember how confused I was, hating myself because I was getting involved with a vampire. _Two_ vampires, actually. I remember hating myself even more because I couldn't make a choice. Do you have any idea the crap I put people through in the past if they cheated on me? So, okay, Xander Harris was the only person I ever knew stupid enough to do it, but still, it was a definite no-no. I think... I think I've always loved Angel. It's really hard to remember a time when I didn't. Even when I knew he was Buffy's. Even when we were friends and I was just the sidekick. Even when I couldn't remember our life together and he was always looming around and scaring the bejesus out of me." 

Spike didn't look at her. He hung his head and closed his eyes. 

"Then you go and sneak past my defences," she said. "Get under my skin." Spike's head snapped up. He stared at her, pale and disbelieving. She swiped at an errant tear. "God, would you please just come over here and hug me already?"

"You're in the bath."

"And that's a problem because...?"

For a brief moment, he looked terribly tempted, but he shook his head. "I can't, Delia. I'll only be getting in the way. I'm sorry," he said, and turned to walk away.

"I still want you. I think we can make this work. Angel's cool with trying. The three of us together. Triangles are a-go."

Spike froze in place, then turned around very slowly. "You what?"

"You heard me."

Spike shook his head a little, like he was trying to clear it, like the world just didn't make sense. "You're both mad, the pair of you. Mad as hatters."

"Because we want what you want and everybody gets to live happily ever after? You're so back-to-front. Anybody ever tell you that?"

"You're sure about this? You only just woke up. You can't have had time to really think it over."

"I know my own mind, Spike. That you can be sure of. I'm in. All the way. That is if I can get over this crazy jealous rage thing I've got going on."

"You really mean that?"

"About the jealous rage?" She shrugged. "Only a little. Meh, not really, no. It's kind of hard being jealous of your two boyfriends for getting it on together. I mean, come on. Hypocritical much?"

"You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

Spike shook his head fiercely. 

She held her hand out to him, overwhelmed with relief when this time he took it. She tugged him down to her and Spike went to his knees beside the tub. "Absolutely I know," she said, wrapping her arms around him and getting water and bubbles on his leather coat. She sighed into his shoulder when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. "Absolutely. And you kind of stink."

"Uh... I love you, too?"

"I mean, I'm sitting here in a perfectly good bath and you seem like a man who needs his back scrubbed in a big way."

Spike went very still in her arms. "Shouldn't you be recuperating or whatnot?"

"I can recuperate and scrub your back at the same time. I reserve the right to fall asleep on you, but I can scrub with my last ounce of strength if you promise to put me to bed afterwards."

There was a brief pause. "Done," he said, and scrambled to his feet and started to wrestle out of his clothes. 

Angel appeared in the doorway, steaming teapot in hand. He looked back and forth between them. "Uh, you're not going to..." He tilted his head. "Are you?"

"Here," Spike said, fishing a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of his duster and tossing it in Angel's direction. He hopped on one foot to pull off a boot.

Angel caught the paper in mid-air without, Cordelia noted, spilling a drop from the teapot. "What is this?"

"I put out some feelers, like we said. You're going to want to talk to that guy."

Angel stared at the paper, blinking like he couldn't understand what he was reading. "You... this is what you were doing? I thought you were..."

"Sulking? Drowning my sorrows?"

"Well, yeah."

"Oh ye of little faith," Spike said, and kicked off his jeans. 

The water level rose alarmingly as he stepped into the bath. Cordelia slid over to make room but ended up with Spike between her legs, his arms around her, his head pillowed on her shoulder. 

"This bath is obscene," he muttered, and burrowed in closer. His hand moved restlessly over her skin under the surface of the water, but his face was mostly calm. 

Angel retook his place beside the tub. His shirt was damp and sticking to his chest and arms in all sorts of interesting ways, and Spike was hard against her thigh, bobbing a little with the movement of the water and tickling her. 

She felt herself blushing, her body responding. "You're..."

Spike waved it away, splashing the water a little. "Don't worry about it. I'm just happy to see you. I can think zen thoughts and we have all the time in the world. You just do your recuperating thing, okay?"

She nodded and wondered if she'd be able to hook the bath puff with her toes or if she'd have to dislodge Spike to reach it. She had promised him some back-scrubbing, after all.

Angel was still staring at Spike, like he was trying to work something out. "That contact... it was a goodbye present."

Spike lifted his head. He opened his mouth to deny it, but glanced at both of them in turn and dropped his gaze. "I suppose it was," he said quietly.

Cordelia threaded her fingers through his hair where it was damp at the back of his head and just starting to curl, feeling very sad and full of love, and a strange little stab of anger. 

"Idiot," she said. "I'm in love with an idiot."

"Oh," Spike said softly, full of wonder, and kissed her.


	36. Chapter 36

Recuperation involved a lot of sleeping, sometimes alone, often curled around one or both of her vampires. They made her see the shaman doctor who freaked her out with his prodding and bug-eyed staring, but who told her she was physically fine but mentally and psychically exhausted, which sounded just a little insulting when she thought about it. He prescribed rest and relaxation and a ton of vitamins, and when she queried him told her that, yes, she was still (or was again -- it was getting hard to keep track) half-demon, so she could relax, somewhat, some about her visions. He discretely pressed a business card into her palm during the full twelve or so seconds when Angel and Spike weren't hovering nearby and murmured something about brain scans and psychic mapping and writing a paper on her. 

When he left, Cordelia discretely threw the card in the trash. 

A lot of hot sweet tea was drunk, her every whim with regards to food was met without question or complaint, and several more communal baths were taken. Spike, apparently, had a real thing about bubble baths.

"You're kind of making me crazy here," she said, when he was lying beside her in the hot water in Angel's tub, giving her soft kisses, tracing lazy circles around her bellybutton.

"Mmm. Ditto. But I refuse to start something when you're not at a hundred percent." 

"That, like, goes against everything I know about you."

A shadow passed over his face. He kissed her once on the jaw, then stood up and stepped out of the bath.

"Wait, where are you going?" She reached for him and missed, splashing water and bubbles on the floor. "I was busy trying to get busy! Did I say something wrong? I was just teasing. I didn't mean anything by it."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He wrapped a towel around his waist, and managed to make it look both firm and ridiculous, considering the obvious bump underneath the towel and the bubbles clinging gamely to his shoulders. "I know. Just get better, okay? Then we'll get as busy as you like."

"You promise?"

"On my honour as a vampire."

She took him at his word. 

About a week later, she woke up one afternoon with an itch under her skin and finally the energy to go out and do things. There was one thing in particular that had been weighing heavy on her mind.

"Did they get graves? Did you organise that while I was... Did they?"

Angel was busy looking through an old book in his office but he set it to one side. "Yes. Sort of," he said. "I mean, there are markers. There's one for Fred. Wesley is buried there beside it. He told me once that if anything happened to him he wanted to be buried here in the States. He didn't want to be sent home. We never... Gunn. We never found him. There's another marker." He rubbed a thumb over his jaw, looking unhappy. "You never asked before."

"I was scared the answer was going to be... bad. Like you said. Like there was nothing left to bury."

"We did what we could."

"I want to go visit them. Can we go?"

He glanced at the window, sunlight still peeking around the edge of the closed blinds. "Can you wait until sundown? We can all go together."

"Yeah, I'd like that." She hesitated. "Ask Illyria, too. I don't know if she... Just ask her."

In the end, they all went. Angel had chosen a little plot in a quiet cemetery outside the city. They walked across the grass, through the warm evening, the stars just visible away from the smog. They followed the discrete signposts until they found the three small markers, side by side under a lone sycamore tree. There was little conversation. Illyria had brought flowers: not cut, but three small potted plants, barely more than a seedling in each. She placed one solemnly on each grave. Cordelia couldn't figure out how she felt about Illyria leaving flowers on Fred's empty grave. She expected anger or insurmountable grief, but only felt sad. 

The four of them stood side by side, looking down at the three grave markers. 

"Should we say something?" Cordelia asked. "Is that what we do here?"

"In my time, we sang songs of our fallen warriors," Illyria said. "Requiems for those who had given freely of their lives in glorious combat."

"I don't know if I feel like singing," Cordelia said, wiping away a tear that had spilled over her cheek.

"You do what you feel is right," Spike said. 

Illyria nodded slowly. "I choose silence," she said.

No one said anything, in the end, but they stood there for a long time. Cordelia moved without conscious thought, touching each of the markers in turn as she mouthed a silent _thank you_ to each of them. 

"We can come back again?" she asked when they were finally walking away.

"Of course," Angel said. "Whenever you want."

She took his hand and laced their fingers together. 

 

\---

 

"I got those scrolls you wanted."

Angel glanced up. "There's no way that's all of them."

"Not even close." Cordelia dumped them on his desk and sighed when half of them rolled off onto the floor. "Your filing system sucks so hard."

"So says the woman who filed Mrs Bensen under F."

"You're never going to let that one go, are you?"

"Nope, never am."

"It was because she was from France, duh. How else would we have known how to _really_ file her away?"

The corners of Angel's mouth curved up, just a little. "When you put it like that..."

"Well, yeah. Obviously. If I hadn't put her file there it would have meant that--" She peered over his shoulder. "Wow. You never really got the hang of the internet, did you?"

Angel frowned at the screen and made a few more clicks. "Sure I did. Vampires have an incredible capacity for learning, you know. We remember everything. Our brains never slow down. Our manual dexterity is off the charts." He clicked again. "It's just... fiddly."

Cordelia commandeered the mouse. A few clicks and she had what she wanted. "Email is a go. What are we looking at?"

"I need to download the attachment again. It's disappeared."

"Sure it did. You know after you save them they have a timer on them that they delete themselves if you don't open them often enough?"

"They do?"

She tried, but couldn't keep the smile from her face. "No, they really, really don't."

"I knew that," Angel said too quickly. "Uh, Giles sent us a prophecy. Or a potential prophecy."

Cordelia skimmed over Giles' email and the attached pdfs. "Looks like something Willow cooked up with all the communing she's been doing with witches and beasties and other planes and who the hell even knows what. So long as it's not another apocalypse or raining fire again or a demon army or a beast who can't be killed, we're good, right?"

Angel sighed. "Here's hoping. Looks like a demon attack, long foretold. Pretty standard. We just have to figure out the details."

"Can we please not be involved in the prophecy this time? That'd be so swell."

"Wouldn't it, though?" Angel clicked print on the attachments.

"So they don't delete themselves again?" she asked.

"I like paper," Angel said. "Paper is good and not fiddly."

She kissed him on the forehead and let him pretend to be grumpy about it. 

She left him to it and went to find Spike to see if he needed anything from Angel's ever-expanding archive of ancient mouldering books, dubious-looking parchments and badly organised scrolls. Spike's brand of research seemed to involve a lot more frowning and muttering and whiskey and propping his feet up on Angel's desk. He had an unlit cigarette between his lips and two empty coffee mugs and a tumbler of whiskey at his elbow. He glanced up and flashed her a quick grin, then went back to frowning at his scrolls.

"Are you actually working?"

Spike noted something down on a battered legal pad. "There's more to me than sparkling wit and pointy teeth, you know."

"Eyeliner and snark and hair dye and buttloads of leather?"

Spike narrowed his eyes but there was little heat to it. "Perhaps I've decided to settle down and make a difference."

Cordelia smiled. "You've been doing that for ages. Doesn't mean you like doing homework."

"I speak six and a half languages and can swear in a dozen more," he said, matter of fact. "That's two more than Angel, and old German makes his head hurt, so I'm helping out."

"Good," she said. "That's really good."

He glanced up again. "You're hovering. It's distracting."

"I am? Maybe I just like watching you when you're not watching me."

A small wicked smile curved the corner of his mouth. "I've noticed that. We can work with that when you feel up to it."

Her cheeks heated up. "Not everything's about sex, you know."

"More's the pity." He went back to his scroll. A moment later he asked, "You going to tell me what that bee in your bonnet is buzzing about?"

 _Busted_ , she thought. "Talking about... uh. You just made me think... I was just wondering if you... if you two have been... y'know."

Spike looked at her strangely. "Have we been...?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. " _Y'know_."

"Ah," Spike said, suddenly very interested. "The penny drops. There was me thinking not everything is about sex." He pushed back from the desk and tossed down the cigarette. "You want to know if we've been sneaking off to partake in a bit of vigorous how's your father while you've been on the bench."

"That's... not how I would have put it in a million years, but yeah."

He stood up and walked slowly towards her, making her breath pick up. "Bit jealous, are we? Thinking it's time you got back in on the act?"

"Do you actually listen to the things you say?" she asked, backing off a little, her gut twisting with want when she saw the flare of predator in his eyes. "Are these things you think should be let out into the world at large?"

Spike got into her space and kept walking, backing her up until she met the wall and had nowhere else to go. 

"You like the things I say. You know it and I know it. Have I told you lately how crazy I am for you? How much I missed you? How bloody trying it's been to wait for you? How hot you get me? How hard? All those baths, Jesus Christ above. Feels like my heart's beating in my chest." He leaned in, and she could _feel_ him, but he stopped just short of kissing her. "You make me breathe. You make my hands tremble."

"You didn't answer my question," she said, her voice not at all steady.

Spike pursed his lips. "There may have been a little... manhandling." He looked far too smug for Cordelia's liking. "But there seems to have been this unspoken agreement that we were all waiting for something." He slipped his hands around her waist, gathering handfuls of her skirt and tugging gently. His eyes were wide and dark, and all his teasing seemed to have melted away.

"This isn't why I came here. We're supposed to be researching. I know we're all rusty, but that was the aim of the day."

"And yet now we're making very good use of this wall and I'm thinking about doing all sorts of interesting things to you." He spoke softly, his words only for her, and moved in even closer, sliding his hands under the curve of her ass. "Maybe I'll only use my tongue."

Cordelia licked her lips and swallowed. "Cheater. You're such a cheater."

"Are you going to show me what you want?" he asked, practically a whisper.

She nodded, feeling lost, and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him down to her for a kiss. It started slow, the two of them sharing air, holding back just to torture each other, but it didn't stay that way for long. He picked her up like she didn't weigh a thing and set her down on the desk behind them, pushing scrolls and his notepad out of the way, one of the coffee mugs smashing on the floor. 

She could have kissed him for days. It made her head spin: an intimate conversation without words. He slid his hands up under her shirt and thumbed over her nipples, the gentle slide over the silk of her bra making her whimper and pull him closer. In her head on repeat was a mantra of _I love you. I love you. You're so good. I love you._ He pulled her panties down and off, and touched her gently, teasing her, just how she liked it, a frown of concentration on his face, like she was precious, like making her feel good was the most important thing in the world to him, like he couldn't look away from her if his life depended on it.

"You ready for me? Can we really do this now?" The best she could manage was gasping into his mouth, nodding and clinging to his shoulders, letting him unmake her.

"Oh my god, _yes_ already. But wait," she said between kisses, and he actually snarled with impatience. "Wait. Just a sec." She drew back from him a little and yelled Angel's name. They stood motionless, listening, Cordelia's chest heaving, the tiniest slide of Spike's fingers right where she wanted it most making her bite hard on her lip to stop from groaning. 

Spike smiled. "He's coming."

"Yay for vampire hearing," she said, pulled him into another kiss.

She was distracted enough that she didn't hear Angel come into the room and so she jumped a little when a second pair of hands settled on her shoulders and smoothed down over her back. Kiss-stupid and so happy it felt like her chest was going to burst open, she leaned back and smiled up at Angel. "Hi," she said. 

"Hi," he repeated, and kissed her. He lifted his head and kissed Spike too, hard and biting. "I can't believe you started without me."

Spike hooked two fingers in Angel's belt and tugged. "Just getting her warmed up for you."

"I swear to god I'm going to gag you," Cordelia said. 

Spike grinned, totally unrepentant. "Kinky."

She laughed and leaned back a little to give Angel space to pull her shirt over her head. He kissed her shoulder then bit down on the tendon with blunt teeth, making her gasp and go liquid against him.

She groaned and rested her head on Angel's shoulder, giving him better access. "I feel pretty stupid here. I don't know what to do."

Spike kissed her throat, sliding his hands up her bare thighs. "Like riding a bicycle, love. Nothing to it."

"I'm pretty sure if I tried to ride two bicycles at once I'd fall on my face."

Spike chuckled against her skin.

"There's no right and wrong here," Angel said. He smiled as she looked up at him expectantly. "We don't have to get it right first time."

"Speak for yourself," Spike said, a little muffled as his mouth was busy. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Will you..." Cordelia blushed hot. "Will you kiss him again?"

Spike drew back to look at them, a slow smile spreading over his face. "You like that, huh?"

Cordelia swallowed and gave a tiny nod. 

"We live to serve," Angel said, and curled one big hand around the back of Spike's head. They kissed, open and searching, and when they broke apart Angel didn't let go, staring at Spike. "You taste just like her," he said, sounding dazed. 

"That's who we are now," Spike said. "That's how it works." His gaze darted over Angel's face, looking for something. "And you have stupid hair and terrible taste in music and I've been drinking all your good whiskey. Gleefully. Without the slightest remorse. And that scratch down the side of your car that I said wasn't me? It was me."

Angel blinked, confused. "What?"

"You're looking a little all in," Spike said. "Don't get too happy. Not yet."

"Oh," Angel said, glancing between them, guilt clouding his features. "Okay."

Cordelia touched his cheek. "You really need to call that guy."

"I will. Tomorrow?"

Spike nodded, his hands busy at Angel's belt. "Tonight, even. He's a night owl. But right now I'd really like to see if we can all get in on the act at the same time. Sound good?"

Angel swallowed and nodded. He let Spike guide him between Cordelia's thighs and crowd up behind him. "Good," he said as Cordelia smiled up at him and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Really very good."


	37. Chapter 37

They were sprawled out in Angel's bed, Spike with his head cradled in the curve of Cordelia's hip, his hair a riotous mass of spikes and curls. Angel was sitting up against the headboard with Cordelia resting against his chest. 

"We should go out," she announced, trailing one fingertip around a particularly interesting bruise on Angel's pectoral.

"Out?" Spike asked. "Not to another one of those clubs, I beg you. I've had my fill, and the last thing anyone ever needs to see is Angel trying to socialise or, god help us, dance."

Cordelia tried and failed to stop her smile at Angel's look of indignation. "No," she said, as Angel leaned over and pinched the back of Spike's thigh, making him squawk. "Kind of over that. I was thinking a drink, maybe dinner. Something totally normal and simple and intimate. Somewhere quieter that we all like. I want candles and dark corners and good wine. But somewhere nice. Somewhere low key."

"Sounds good," Angel said. "Anybody else feel like we're tempting fate by even suggesting it?"

"Hush your mouth," Spike said. "We have to get an evening off once in a while. 'sgood for team morale and whatnot."

"I actually was thinking more of a proper date than a team-building exercise," Cordelia said.

"I know a good Moroccan place. Lots of cushions and those little low tables and curtains to hide behind. They do this amazing lamb and apricot and walnut tajine thing. They even serve blood if Maurice is working. Do we all get to be handsy with lots of PDAs and set tongues a-wagging?"

"Pfft. This is L.A. I don't think too many tongues are going to wag."

"Point," said Spike. "Well, I, for one, would love a night out on the town with my two favourite paramours."

"How many do you have?" she asked.

Spike smiled. "Just enough."

"We should definitely go shower first."

"Mm. Yeah, okay, real soon." Angel dipped his head and kissed behind her ear then headed lower, making her bite on her lip and arch her back. 

"I'm hungry, Angel." There was a gasp in her voice and she didn't make the slightest attempt to stop him from what he was doing.

"Mmm, me too," Spike said, as he turned over and looked up at them with a wicked smile. 

 

\---

 

It was late by the time they left the hotel. Spike had called ahead and Maurice had confirmed that they were still open and reserved a table for them. Angel drove and they enjoyed the night air, all of them smiling too much: Spike talking a mile a minute, Cordelia chatting with him, Angel happy to just listen to them tease each other. They parked the car a few blocks away and walked, Cordelia in the middle, their arms linked together. 

"This is nice," Cordelia said. "Don't you think this is nice? I'm so hungry my stomach is _growling_. I'm going to eat everything on the menu. We should definitely--"

Angel stopped walking, bringing the other two up short. "Listen," he said. "Can you smell that?"

Spike had time to let out a snort of laughter right before a dark shape came barrelling out of the shadows and shoved Angel into the path of an approaching car. There was the squeal of brakes and an ominous thud, but they didn't have time to react as the figure smashed into Spike, a massive shoulder to the chest, sending him flying several feet to collide with a wall and crumple to the ground.

Cordelia was torn, not knowing who to go to first, but Angel, unconscious in the middle of the road, won out. The driver of the car got out and almost fell in his haste. He looked to be in his mid-20s with a shaggy head of hair. "Is he okay?" he asked, reaching out, his hands shaking. "I swear to god I didn't see him." 

Cordelia glanced back at Spike. He looked dazed, shaking it off just in time to avoid a huge fist from connecting with his face. He ducked and rolled out of the way, and the fist left a soccer ball-sized crater in the wall behind him.

"Help me," Cordelia said, trying to drag Angel to the sidewalk, and not having much luck. 

The driver looked like he was teetering into shock and was wholly focused on Angel. He hovered, clearly wanting to help but hesitant about whether he should touch Angel. "He came out of nowhere. Did he _jump_ in front of me or something? You sure you should be moving him?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw the demon, because it was clearly a demon -- _Wrecking ball,_ she thought. _With legs and a couple of tusks_ \-- draw himself up to his full height and go after Spike again. 

" _Help_ me," she said again, and this time the driver got with the programme and took Angel's legs. Between the two of them they waddled to the sidewalk and laid him down. 

"Do I... Should I call someone? Who should I call? An ambulance, right? I should call an ambulance."

"It's fine. I'll take care of it. You should get out of here." She patted Angel's face, urging him to wake up.

"What? No. No way." He shook his head. "I don't want to be that guy."

Angel groaned, his eyes fluttering. There was snorting sound nearby like an angry bull and a yelp of pain from Spike. This time the sound was enough to draw the attention of the driver and his eyes widened in horror as he saw what was happening. 

"You should get in your car and go." Cordelia got to her feet and drew her sword.

His eyes widened further at the sight of her sword. "Okay. I am totally that guy," he said, and scrambled to obey, his car pulling away with a squeal of tires on asphalt. 

"Angel, are you okay? Angel! Are you with me?"

"Yeah. 'm good." He struggled into a sitting position and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Where's Spike?"

Spike was using two bricks from the wall to attack the demon, spinning and landing blows with all his strength, letting his speed keep him out of harm's way, sledgehammer blows missing him by centimetres. He dodged out of the way just as the demon overextended himself and Spike kicked at a knee, toppling him to the pavement.

"I'd really like all the bad guys to stop throwing me into walls now," he said, sprinting over to them. 

"Are you okay?" Cordelia asked.

He nodded, then got a good look at her. "You brought a sword!" 

"You didn't?!"

"You said dinner. You said a quiet night out!"

"I _told_ you we were tempting fate," Angel said, accepting Spike's hand and getting to his feet. 

"I said a quiet night but I didn't think anyone was going to actually come unarmed!" Cordelia said. "That's just dumb! Since when do you go _anywhere_ unarmed?"

"Where did you even hide that thing?" Angel asked. "Next time we need to be much clearer on the rules for date night."

"Next time you need to bring way more stabby things."

"I have a stake," Spike said, producing it.

"Which I'm sure will be incredibly helpful in taking down a Rhinon demon," Angel said.

"Is that what that thing is? I've never seen one in the flesh. Big bugger, isn't he?"

They fanned out a little, blocking the Rhinon's path to the road and potential innocent passers-by. 

"You okay, mate?"

"Broken arm. Think I've dislocated my shoulder again. Maybe cracked a couple of ribs."

"Be right as rain come morning," Spike said. "I'll pop your shoulder back when we're done here. I've got a light touch."

"Last time you nearly tore my arm off!"

"That was _years_ back. Didn't know my own strength."

"Guys! This is cute an' all, but we have a pressing matter of large angry demon over there."

"Weren't Rhinon demons incredibly front and centre in that prophecy we were researching?" Spike asked, and it almost, _almost_ sounded like a genuinely innocent question.

Cordelia made a sound incredibly like a vampire's growl, making both vampires stare at her in surprise. "We are so dumb. We got totally distracted by sex, didn't finish researching the stupid prophecy, and ended up in the middle of it just like always. We're so very, very dumb."

"To be fair," said Spike, "it was pretty phenomenal sex."

"That is so, so beside the point. And it was above average, I'll give you that, but you have a way to go before you hit phenomenal."

Spike let his mouth fall open, affronted.

"Give me your sword," Angel said. 

Cordelia eyed him. "I thought your arm was kind of broken."

Angel tried to straighten it and winced sharply. "Little bit," he admitted.

"How did you do this last time?"

"You've fought them before?" Spike asked. "Is this a revenge thing, then? It is, isn't it? So this could be all your fault, as per bloody usual."

Angel pointedly didn't reply. "What's your sword made of?"

"This one? Iron and silver."

"Thank god." He gestured vaguely at the demon. "Aim between the plates."

"Plates?" she asked.

"It's like a giant armadillo. Get in between the plates."

"I thought it was like a giant rhino."

"I don't know, Cordelia. It colours outside the lines."

The demon finally heaved its huge bulk to its feet and turned to face them, snorting its rage.

"Giant armadillo-rhino wrecking ball type thing." Cordelia swallowed. "Got it."

Spike held out his hand for the sword. "Give it to me, love. Let me take care of it."

The Rhinon demon put on a surprising burst of speed and batted Spike out of the way like he was made of paper. 

"Just stab it!" Angel cried. "Stab it and get out of the way fast."

"Oh my god. Best advice _ever_." Cordelia took a deep breath and let it out slow. "I hate you guys," she said, and held her ground as the Rhinon charged again, this time aiming straight for her.

Time stood still. Cordelia let her training take over: all those endless, sweaty, mostly unfun hours working with Angel, repeating the same moves over and over until she could, and sometimes did, do them in her sleep, until her muscles knew how to move even before she did, until the sword became an extension of her arm, wicked and deadly, until the demon inside her woke up and howled its pleasure at the burn of her muscles, the thrust of the blade, the knowledge that from now on when the fight came to her, _she_ was the queen.

She ducked and turned and stabbed several times in quick succession, the Rhinon passing by close enough that she could feel her hair move in its wake. She rolled to her feet and stood ready to fight. She stabbed again before the Rhinon had a chance to turn around and it let out a bellow of rage as the sword plunged between two thick plates on its back.

"Again, Cordelia! Again!"

"Move your arse, love!"

The Rhinon turned and reached for her but it was clearly hurting. She ducked under a swipe of its arm and rose to stab her sword into the base of its throat. It clutched at the sword, eyes wide, gurgling on its own blood. Cordelia had to leap back out of the way as it toppled to the ground and lay still. 

Cordelia's ears rang in the sudden quiet; her heart hammering in her chest. "Is that it? Did I do it?"

Angel inched his way closer and nudged the Rhinon with his toe. He looked up, a smile on his face. "You did it."

Spike let out a burst of laughter. "Come here, you beautiful creature." 

"Half-demon, I'll have you know," she said, letting out a happy little shriek as he spun her in his arms and kissed her. "You're insatiable," she said when they came up for air.

Spike grinned and kissed her again. "Incorrigible, too. Did I ever tell you I find competence and swordsmanship incredible turn-ons?" Cordelia shook her head and let out an undignified yip when Spike got his hands under her ass and lifted so her legs went around his waist. He backed her up against the nearest wall and her sword clattered to the ground. "Want to be inside you," he said, biting at her jaw, kissing her throat, his voice a low growl in her ear sending shivers over her skin. "Baby girl's all grown up, taking care of us now."

She shuddered, going weak in his arms as he pulled the collar of her top to one side and bit down lightly on the curve of her shoulder. "You say the worst things. The worst. They really shouldn't work on me."

He hummed happily against her skin. "But they do."

"Ugh," she said, "the _worst_ ," and pulled back his head with a fistful of hair so she could kiss him.

Angel had to clear his throat several times while they made out, messy and wonderful, until Cordelia pulled back, dazed. "I'm here," she said, then fought back another shudder as Spike rolled his hips against her.

"As much as I'd like to sit back and watch the show," Angel said, "there's a large demon corpse to dispose of and the sun's coming up in a couple of hours. And you two get to do all the heavy lifting because I have a broken arm." He waggled his fingers at them weakly and winced in pain.

"I take it back," Cordelia said. "You're the one who says the worst things."

"I'll make it up to you later," he said, leaning in to give her an open-mouthed kiss. "And you were pretty badass. I guess I'm not such a lousy teacher after all, huh?"

"Both of you. The absolute worst."

Spike set her back on her feet with a sigh. They looked down at the demon corpse. 

"You want heads or tails?" Spike asked. 

Cordelia picked up her sword and sheathed it. "I was really looking forward to dinner."

Angel put his good arm around her waist and squeezed. "We'll get it to go."


	38. Chapter 38

"You guys."

At the breathless sound of Cordelia's voice, Spike and Angel were on their feet in an instant.

"You guys, you have to come see this."

"What is it?" Angel asked, coming out from behind his desk. "Do we need weapons?"

Cordelia shook her head. "Illyria. You have to come see what she's done."

Angel grimaced. "Is this going to require body bags and shovels again?"

"It's like I don't even want to know. And no. And ew. And they'd better not have been humans in those body bags."

"Ractang demons in the playpark. Smelly isn't even the word. But if it's not fighting or clean up, then what? Is she okay?"

"You just have to come see. You won't believe it. It's, like, unbelievable."

Spike tossed his book on the table. "I'm in. Lead on, Gunga Din."

She took them up through the hotel, not leading them to Illyria's quarters but up farther, taking the door that lead out onto the roof. 

Spike and Angel stopped dead and looked around with wide eyes. 

" _This_ is what's she's been doing up here?"

Spike blinked. "I thought she just liked communing with daisies."

"I guess she branched out," Cordelia said.

"Hark at you with the gardening puns," Spike said, but he was too busy being awed at what he was seeing to put any real heat into it.

All around was a glorious wonder of greenery, complete with archways, little walls, paths weaving through the plants, hanging baskets, and soft light coming from hidden sources. 

Illyria appeared, silently as always, dirt under her nails and a little trowel in one hand. She didn't seem angry at the intrusion but watched their reaction closely.

Angel looked around, open-mouthed. "But this was just bricks and tarmac and dust and... It's not going to cause problems with the integrity of the roof, is it?" Cordelia immediately slapped him with the back of her hand without even looking at him. "Sorry," he said and Illyria regally let it go. "But when did you... _How_ did you...?"

"To say that you have been preoccupied with exploring the balance of your newly founded sexual relationship of late is a gross understatement. I have been using Wesley's credit card to buy gardening supplies. The internet is a simple tool, and they will deliver almost anything I require. Bringing them into the hotel without your detection was far from difficult so I simply-- _do not step on my succulents_ ," she said with enough venom to make Angel freeze in his tracks with one foot in the air. Illyria relaxed a little. "The fire-pit is behind you."

"Ooh, really?" He wandered away to have a look. 

Spike tucked an Evening Primrose behind Cordelia's ear and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Yellow's a good colour on you, love."

She beamed at him. "Isn't it amazing?"

"Good thing we're supernatural creatures who care little for the ways of modern man, living in a previously haunted and still slightly magical hotel, otherwise the zoning law violations we'd have to deal with here would be a _bitch_."

"Totally," she said, squeezing his hand. "Listen, I'll be right back. I'm just going to get a thing."

"A thing?"

"A thing."

Spike kissed her hand and let her go with a sigh. He turned to admire an archway, heavy-laden with climbing plants, shrubs dotted around its base.

"Night-blooming Jasmine and Ipomoea," Illyria said. "Their scent appealed to me. I thought that as I co-inhabit with vampires, it was a sound choice."

"Moon flowers," Spike said, breathing in their perfume. "I think this's the closest I've ever seen you come to making a joke."

"I did not intend to amuse."

"No. But I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless. It's very beautiful up here. You've done us proud. At least now we know if the god-kinging thing doesn't pan out, you have a solid backup as a landscaper."

"You seek to tease me?"

Spike smiled. "Not nearly as much as you might think. It's breath-taking, petal."

"Take care with your tone."

"Would you just please take a bloody compliment and stop haranguing me?" 

Illyria frowned a little. "I... accept your compliment. I am... pleased it pleases you."

"There now. Was that so hard?"

Illyria looked unconvinced.

A few moments later, Cordelia reappeared, a little pink-cheeked from her second trek back up through the hotel, and held out a bottle to Illyria. Illyria just stared at it in her hand. 

"It's for you. A gift. Champagne is a symbol of celebration."

"A celebration of what?"

Cordelia smiled. "It's your housewarming. We bring you a gift when you officially welcome us into your home for the first time."

Illyria stared at her for a long moment, then reached out and took the bottle, holding it awkwardly. "Thank you, Cordelia Chase. Welcome to my home."

"Just watch where you point that thing when you open it."

Illyria examined the bottle with renewed interest. "It is a weapon?"

"No. It's the drink of champions. It can just be a little explosive. But that's all part of the fun. I can't wait to see how you like the bubbles."

Illyria gave it a little shake, watching the little bubbles rise to the surface.

"When did you get champagne?" Spike asked under his breath.

"I'd been saving it. I was thinking for one of our baths, but this seemed like the thing to do." She smiled. "And there they are, right on schedule."

"There who are?"

She beamed at him. "The hearts in your eyes."

"You spoil me, love."

"I'm supposed to," she said, and looped her arms around his waist. "I love you."

"And I you." Spike touched their foreheads together. "I don't deserve you, you know that?"

"Are you two having a moment?" Angel asked as he appeared out of the foliage.

"Absolutely," Spike said, not taking his eyes off Cordelia. "You want in on it?"

"Always," Angel smiled. 

"Let's just admire Illyria's garden awhile longer, okay?" Cordelia said. "It's so beautiful. I kind of want to sleep up here."

Illyria's expression didn't change but with the slightest lift of her chin she emanated pride at Cordelia's words. With his back to Illyria, where she couldn't see him but the others could, Angel shook his head.

"No, seriously," Cordelia said. "You haven't seen the couches? With the awnings and all the cushions? Dude, you have _got_ to see these things. I mean it. This place is heaven on earth. It'd be like living in a magazine spread. I may never leave."

"Did you just call me 'dude'?"

She took him by the hand. "Trust me, it totally merited a 'dude'. Just come and look at this. Seriously."

She led them through an archway of low-hanging vines, turned right at a small fountain half covered in moss, and rounded the side of a little lemon tree laden with yellow fruit where they stopped and looked around. 

" _Dude_ ," Angel said, his eyes wide as he took it all in. "I want to sleep up here, too. Is that rude? Overstaying our welcome?"

"You are all welcome here," Illyria said. "You have shared your home with me without hesitation or question, when others would have wished me gone, or worse." She made an awkward welcoming gesture with her hand. 

"Lovely sentiment. Slight problem come sunrise," Spike said, looking skyward. 

"This area of the rooftop is the most shaded. The canvas making up the awnings is a variation on your necro-tempered glass. It will filter out the components of sunlight deadly to you. It is also waterproof. I designed it so that you have a sheltered walkway back to the door should you wish to come and go during the day. There is a ready supply of thick blankets and several umbrellas for your protection should the need arise for a dash back to the safety of the building if the day comes when we are attacked from above."

Angel and Spike shared a look. "You really did all that for us?" Angel asked. "Thank you. That's incredibly thoughtful."

Cordelia smiled warmly at her, then at Angel and Spike. "Dibs on the corner couch!" she cried, dashing over and throwing herself on it.

"What about you?" Angel asked. "Aren't we taking your space?"

"This is merely the guest accommodation. The master suite is at the east end of the garden. That is my domain."

"So we're not putting you out," Spike said, dry as the desert.

Illyria headed off to her end of the garden. "If you are going to copulate," she said over her shoulder, "do so with the minimum of fuss. I wish to commune with nature."

They fought it really, really hard, but they ended up giggling.

 

\---

 

Coffee was good. Coffee was really, really good. Unless Cordelia had been within a twenty foot radius of the machine when it was being brewed, but usually... coffee was great. It was just the best thing ever. In his long and varied existence, Angel knew this to be an absolute truth. Spike was always waxing lyrical about the merits of a good cup of tea and how it was the fuel of a nation, but Angel was all about a cup of strong, hot, sweet coffee. 

He shuffled to the kitchen, pulling his arms into a stretched out shirt -- one of the old beige ones that he hadn't worn in an age -- to find Spike leaning over the counter, practically hugging the coffee machine as he waited for it to brew.

Spike lifted his head as Angel walked in. He looked fucked out and bleary, his hair unruly, but he drummed up a smile for Angel.

"I never thought I'd say this, mate, but I think we're having too much sex."

Angel yawned. "You've said that every evening for three days straight."

Spike grinned. "Must be true, then. Lucky old us." The machine started to make that familiar gurgling sound telling them that the last dregs of water were passing through the filter. Spike filled a mug and held it in both hands, breathing it in. 

Angel lifted the mug out of Spike's hand and took a long swallow. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Spike had decided to make it black with sugar this time.

"Hey, no fair," Spike said, but there was little heat to it. 

Angel held out his arm without thinking about it and Spike went to him easily, curling in under Angel's arm.

"You can buy me a decent coffee maker," he said, his words muffled against Angel's chest. "None of this filter shite. The real deal with all the bells and whistles. We should just have one each."

"Okay," Angel said peaceably. 

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You can buy me a decent Porsche."

Angel smiled. "That one you might have to earn."

Spike made a small, hurt sound. "It's so unfair being a kept woman."

Angel rolled his eyes fondly and handed back the coffee. Spike took the mug and stared into it. Angel slid his fingers into Spike's hair and tugged, then scratched his nails over Spike's scalp. 

"Fucking cuddler," Spike said, leaning into the touch. "Never would have pegged you for it."

"Aren't I allowed to be affectionate?"

Spike drank a mouthful of his coffee. "Beats holding hands in the sunshine, I'll give you that."

"How about we don't compare my current affections to any and all things I did to you when I was Angelus, huh?"

"I don't know. There were a few years in there where things weren't so bad..."

"Spike, please."

Spike examined him a moment. "Serious face it is, then."

Angel cradled the back of Spike's skull. "Right here, right now, I like this." Spike drew back a little, appraising. "This," Angel said, gesturing between them. "You and me. You making me laugh instead of wanting to throttle you. You making me feel..." He fought it but he had to drop his gaze to get it out. "... loved. I feel like this is what we should have had all along but we weren't ready, you know? Like we were..." He smiled faintly, a wistful moment for another life, lived and lost. "Cookie dough. We weren't done baking. Now we are."

"Cookie metaphors? You aren't getting soft on me, are you, old man?"

"Maybe." He sat on the kitchen table and pulled Spike in between his thighs. "Maybe I'm due a little softness."

Spike set his coffee to one side and ran his hand up Angel's thigh. He opened his mouth to say something but Angel slapped a hand over it before he could. 

"Whatever you were going to say, just don't." Spike squeezed him between his legs and raised an eyebrow. Angel figured maybe he had a point. They'd spent so much time in bed recently it felt like he hadn't been all the way soft in days. Spike licked his palm and it made Angel's fingertips tingle. He took his hand away. "What I _meant_ was I'm so happy right now. It's torture. I keep waiting for it to all crash and burn."

"Hey," Spike said, ducking his head a little so he could meet Angel's eyes. "Just because that's our status quo, doesn't mean we don't get to be lucky in love _once_ in a bloody lifetime. I'd say we're long overdue. In fact, I'd wager that Cupid took one look at us and our godawful existences up until now and gave us Cordelia into the bargain just to even up the scales. A lifetime of evil and nasty shit and heartbreak... maybe now we just get to have this. And on top of that, we all get to keep earning a living beating the shit out of demons and bad guys." He grinned. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say I'd died and gone to heaven... but sometimes even that doesn't end so well, or so I've heard."

"I went to see your contact."

"You did?" Spike narrowed his eyes. "Would this have been when you disappeared last week and nearly drove us potty with worry and came back looking like you'd been hit by several trains and wouldn't tell us what the fuck you'd been up to and we all went to bed angry instead of jumping right into the make up sex?" Angel wasn't sure what it was Spike saw on his face, but Spike's expression softened. "I mean, okay, yes, good, thank fuck, about time too. Well done, you. Why didn't you say?"

Angel shook his head, his gaze falling away to the floor. "Don't know. It was just something I had to do alone."

"And?"

Angel looked up. "It's done."

"Done? Just like that? You're like me now? You're free of the curse?"

"That's what the man said."

"How were your trials?"

Angel grimaced, shaking his head, knowing Spike, of all people, would get it. "But, you know what? I kind of think I've had worse days."

Spike laughed, sounding surprised and relieved. "Positive pain, I see. Had yourself a birth orgasm, did you?"

"Oh my god. Cordy's right. You say the worst things. The worst."

"Don't expect me to stop being awful to you just because the curse is permanent now."

"I wouldn't dream of it. And like you said, it's not a curse. Not anymore."

Spike looked at him for a long time. "Angel, tell me you love me."

"I love you. With everything I am, l love you."

"Tell me we're going to do everything we can to keep Delia with us forever."

"We will."

"Tell me you'd kill for me. Die for me."

"You know I would."

"Tell me you want me to fuck you on the table."

Angel pulled him into a kiss. "I do," he said into Spike's mouth. "I really, really do."

Spike gripped him tight and things got a little frantic, clothes pushed up and out of the way, snarls and groans the only sound they made. The table screeched over the floor and there was an ominous splintering sound. 

Angel tried to hold Spike still. "I don't know if the table's up to it."

Spike didn't stop kissing him, his hands busy undoing Angel's fly.

"Then I'll fuck you on the floor."

Angel thought this over for all of two seconds. "Fair enough," he said, and let Spike push him back over the table and crawl over him.

There was the faraway sound of a ringing phone, intrusive and annoying and almost but not quite possible to ignore. Angel lifted his head, dazed. "We should really get that."

He saw Cordelia standing in the doorway, watching them. She looked freshly showered and far too perky considering she'd spent the night in the same bed as they had. She held up a hand. "Oh, no, no. I'll get it. As you were."

"How long have you been there?" Spike asked, blinking at her.

Cordelia drew in a breath and let out a long, luxuriant sigh. "Not nearly long enough." She waggled her fingers at them and went to answer the phone. 

They watched her go.

"God, I love her," Spike said.

"Yeah," Angel agreed.

"She's a keeper," Spike nodded. He slid off the table and tugged Angel forward by the hips until he was sitting on the edge, their bodies flush together, breathing the same air. "Now, where were we?"

"I think I was going to suck you. Get you wet. Then you were going to--"

"We got one!" Cordelia yelled from the lobby. "Gamefaces, boys. We leave in five!"

Spike groaned, his forehead dropping to Angel's shoulder. "Oh, Christ almighty. This is what I get for making a grand speech about how we're due a little happiness."

"You should really know better."

"I really should."

"I'll make it up to you later," Angel promised.

Spike lifted his head, looking properly pissed off. "I was really looking forward to getting my happiness in the next fifteen minutes or so." He rolled his hips into Angel's. It made Angel dizzy, made him greedy, made him grab Spike's ass and squeeze. Spike did it again, and again, until Angel growled, his fangs elongating. 

He drew back, panting. "Stop, stop. I'll make it up to you later a lot. I promise."

"You better," Spike said, and gave him one hard last kiss. He pushed back from the table and hopped from foot to foot, tossing his head like a prize fighter. "Okay. Shake it off." He offered his hand to Angel, who took it and let Spike pull him up from the table. He swayed into Spike's space and snapped his teeth at him.

"Later," he said.

They went through to the lobby, pulling up their trousers, stumbling into one another and generally trying to shake off the sex haze.

"We got one what?" asked Spike, tucking his shirt, which was buttoned up wrongly, back into his jeans.

"A job!" Cordelia said, waving a piece of paper at them. "An actual paying job! Vampire nest. They've been trying to take over a section of Filipinotown. Blood-farm, it sounds like."

"Ugh," said Spike. "That old chestnut."

"Are you guys good to go?" she asked, and it almost sounded like a serious question where she wasn't terribly amused at the two of them trying to arm themselves while willing away their hard-ons. "No... unresolved issues to worry about?"

Spike bit hard on his lip and sighed. "Very unresolved. But apparently someone's going to make it up to me later. A lot." He turned a filthy little smile on Cordelia. "You're invited."

"What do we know?" asked Angel, ducking his head and already heading for the weapon's cabinet. Spike's lip between his teeth wasn't helping one little bit with his own unresolved issue and he was kind of hoping pretty hard that it was going to resolve itself before he had to run headlong into battle. Fighting with a boner was not one of his favourite things. Granted, sometimes it could definitely make things more interesting but generally speaking wasn't a great help in life or death situations. 

"They're kidnapping people and sounds like they're running a protection racket at the same time."

"Lemme guess. You don't pay, you lose a loved one who disappears and gets used as a blood-bag until they run dry." Spike buttoned his jeans, adjusted his hard-on with the heel of his hand, and cracked his knuckles. "Even better: the old blood-farm protection racket schtick. Nothing new in heaven. Let's suit up."

"The woman who called sounded terrified. She said her neighbour's daughter was taken and she's freaking out because it's collection day and she's nowhere close to being able to pay again."

"How are they going to pay us, then?" Spike asked.

Cordelia's happy expression slipped. "Oh. Maybe we can suggest a payment plan?"

"I think maybe we can worry about it later and just go do some good," Angel said. "I think I'm particularly going to like this one."

"You're the boss, boss," Spike said. "You know, I kind of like it, all this recent vamp activity. It feels like getting back to our roots."

Cordelia nodded. "Plus the clean-up is way, way easier."

Angel examined the blade of his sword and, satisfied, slid it into the sheath he'd strapped to his back. He strapped on his spring-loaded wrist bands, slotted a stake into each and put on his coat. 

He set his jaw. "Let's go to work."

Spike paused in his preparations. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You don't get to use a line like that more than once in one lifetime."

"But Cordy wasn't there the last time I..." He sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Can we please go kill bad guys now?"

Cordelia nodded, full of purpose, and sheathed her sword. Spike tucked away a few more stakes and picked up a wicked looking axe, admiring the way the light shone on the blade. 

Angel was used to heartache. He wasn't used to this, this feeling of family and love and belonging and purpose. He wanted to freeze the moment and keep it forever.

"Well?" Spike asked, pausing in the doorway of the hotel. "What are we waiting for?"

Angel glanced at Cordelia and smiled, dark and a little deadly. "Not a thing. Let's go."


End file.
